Team RAIN
by Jacube Silvora
Summary: Months before the Fall of Beacon, a team of Hunters is busy tracking down the White Fang in Vacuo. Shade Academy trained them well, but they'll need a whole lot of teamwork and a whole lot of luck to pull this one off.
1. Chapter 1

Nothing makes a person forget the warm of a summer evening than the sound of panicked screaming. Cries of fear and pain echoing throughout the dark chills even the most steeled of heart, making limbs quake and the brave run as far as their legs will carry them. What kind of horrible fool would search for the source?

Huntsmen and Huntresses, that's who, the guardians of the free peoples of Remnant from the ever present threat of the Grimm and danger of bandits and violent groups.

The terrified city was witness to the quartet walking towards the sounds of fearful people, pushing through the panicked crowd that ran any direction they could, so long as it was away. They did not need to explain their actions, nor did they stop anyone in the crowd to ask why they ran.

The White Fang was in town.

Smoke swirled higher into the night sky, the stars blotted out by a thick black cloud and even the light of the moon was muted by the light of a fire that raged on the edges of town. Silhouettes could be seen in the light of the fire if one looked hard enough, flitting from place to place. Whether or not these were victims or attackers was impossible to say, but it made no difference to the team that strode towards the danger. They were sure in their movements and certain in their purpose.

The town guard had set up a perimeter around the immediately affected area, hoping to contain the attackers. So far they had been successful, but a few terrified civilians had reported an impossibly large Faunus leading the attack. The guard commanders had written it off as civilian panic and ignored the warnings, but the rumor remained.

The team made their way to the perimeter, striding passed the appalled guards. One of the braver guards called out, "You can't do that! Who do you think you are?"

A young woman turned, tall and fair, blue streaked blonde hair twirling around her head as she did so. She put one hand on her hip and called back, "Team RAIN." Another woman turned, this one much shorter than the first, and winked through brown bangs. A male on the team smiled on side of his face and his blue eyes twinkled behind his glasses as he shifted the weight of the massive blade across his back. The last member of the quartet, a broad shouldered man with a black topknot and neatly trimmed goatee nodded curtly to the guards. The blonde woman turned away and continued to walk towards the fire. The guards were left in the wake of the quartet, wondering just who these people were. Some began to whisper that they were students at Shade Academy, but the school was located much too far away for that to be a viable option, the guards concluded. Certain that these were rogue Huntsmen and Huntresses, but too afraid to deal with both the White Fang and these guardians, they stayed put, content with letting their commanders know what had happened.

And so in Team RAIN went.

"I can't believe they just let us in." Ryvin muttered, throwing her blonde locks over one shoulder and securing them with a pin.

Arcon stroked his beard before replying, "Fear makes the most disciplined men forget the rule of law."

Shifting the weight of his blade once again, it was Immolen's turn to speak. "They were terrified. Some guards this side of Vacuo."

Nutmeg cooed lightly, making a circle of her hands around her mouth. "Scared like pigeons!" She cooed again. Ryvin sighed with a small grin, Arcon shook his head in despair, and Immolen laughed aloud. "If you say so Nutmeg."

She nodded matter of factly, responding "They have the same expression when you chase them."

Ryvin looked over, utterly lost in Nutmeg's logic. "Jus-what? Why do you know that?"

Nutmeg did not deign to answer, instead preferring to coo again.

Arcon looked on towards the fire instead of entering the murky waters of a conversation with the woman. Immolen had no such qualms and was about to speak, but they were cut off by the sounds of screams from ahead. So onwards they went.

The last of the civilians had long since run off into the untouched parts of the city, leaving the White Fang to their own devices. Houses burned, stores were looted, and anything valuable was taken and stored away in aircraft and trucks. Especially the Dust. The street of competing Dust shops now lay in ruins, front windows smashed in to let the attacking Faunus throw crates of Dust to waiting comrades. Huge quantities of the material had already been moved out of the city, leaving the remaining White Fang to clear out whatever was left. Some of the braver slipped a few crystals into their pockets, hardly enough to be noticed in the massive haul that had already been stolen.

One Faunus, a young man with a small pair of antlers coming out of his head, poked his sword into the ruins of a watch store. Some people, he knew, would pay handsomely for a nice timepiece. Finding a beautifully crafted piece with golden hands, he smiled and slipped it into his pocket. He might even keep this one for himself, but he knew it would fetch enough to feed him for a month at best. He turned to go, knowing that White Fang was moving out soon. And he would have made it away perfectly fine, had he not been knocked unconscious by the walking stick of the Hunter standing in his way. Arcon frowned lightly, reaching into the Faunus's pocket and removing the watch. He placed the timepiece back into its display case before he turned away to find more stragglers.

Elsewhere in the city, above the streets, Ryvin had finally found a good position to set up her rifle. Popping out the bipod, she rested the legs on the edge of the roof, cradling her weapon lightly in the crook of her shoulder. Looking through the scope, she kept track of the larger group of White Fang. Most were heading out with the crates of Dust, the rest staying behind to make sure the town was burned effectively and everything valuable taken. Taking a look down one of the alleys, she saw a pair of gloved hands lose their grip on the corner of a wall and disappear behind the building.

Immolen snarled at the man he had just dragged down the alley, and landed a solid punch in the man's throat, cutting off his scream before knocking him unconscious with a second punch. Peeking around the corner of the alley and seeing nothing, he snuck towards the street, taking cover behind a dumpster.

This was the strangest thing the dog-tailed White Fang member had ever seen. In the middle of all the chaos, a brown haired woman was leaning over a fountain, dragging her finger through the water and thoroughly enjoying the experience. The Faunus aimed her gun and called out,

"Hey! You!"

The woman paused, pulling her finger out of the water and turning slowly. The White Fang smiled cruelly, telling the woman to lay on the ground, and throw her weapons away.

Nutmeg cocked her head to the side and smiled. Before the woman could respond, Nutmeg had pulled out her pistol and fired once, knocking the gun out of the Faunus's hand. The sound was lost in the chaos of the night, and Nutmeg rushed forwards, wrapping the woman in a hug. She squeezed, and the woman awkwardly pat the Huntress on the back, utterly confused as to what was going on. Pulling away, Nutmeg smiled apologetically.

"Sorry." She said, and before the woman could put two and two together, Nutmeg had wrapped her in a headlock and the Faunus was unconscious within moments. Ryvin's voice crackled over the scroll Nutmeg kept on her hip,

"Are the stragglers gone?"

Nutmeg replied yes, putting her gun away and skipping happily down the street. Arcon and Immolen responded affirmative as well, and Ryvin said,

"Then let's do this thing."

The majority of the White Fang were not expecting an attack this far into the raid. The few that were on guard duty had already been defeated, being those unfortunate enough to find themselves on the outskirts of the raiding party and the first targets of Team RAIN.

Ryvin was to fire upon high value targets, anyone who could potentially pose a threat to the team as a whole. Arcon and Nutmeg would move up the center, while Immolen cut off any escape to the rear.

Taking aim at the largest White Fang she could find, Ryvin let out a slow breath, and squeezed the trigger.

The entire street full of White Fang froze. The giant Faunus with small tusks poking out of the edges of his jaw crumpled to the ground after the sound of a shot. The next moment bullets ripped through the group, sending them scattering to cover and into stores. A few of them fired back, but their shots hit nothing, fired in blind panic. Any of them who looked would have seen the huge wall of a man that was Arcon striding down the street, walking stick in hand, not a care in the world. Behind him flashed the muzzle of an assault rifle wielded by a small brunette woman, Nutmeg.

Figuring that the woman and the man were working together, a few of the braver White Fang ran out to attack him. The first swung wildly, missing as the man twisted his body away from the strike, the walking stick suddenly swinging upwards and catching the Faunus under the chin, knocking him unconscious. The second balked as he saw this, unfortunately frozen as a hail of bullets from down the street lifted him off his feet and threw him away. The third White Fang never got close to Arcon as another loud shot echoed up and down the street and she collapsed mid stride.

Some of the White Fang, thinking that this was not a fight they could win, began to run and found themselves closed in as Immolen rounded the corner. One of the Faunus swung at him, but the Huntsman's blade was faster, cutting into his opponent's belly before their strike could land.

Now that the White Fang was closed in, they had no choice but to attack. Bursting from their hiding places, they pushed forwards, hoping to break through either side of the street. Arcon deflected a sword swing, and refuted it with a smack across the head with his walking stick. Nutmeg fired on larger groups of attackers, keeping them pinned down and letting Ryvin pick off whom she pleased. Immolen sidestepped a strike, swinging his blade high and catching one of the White Fang at the base of the neck, slaying them instantly. The next two that approached him met similar fates, woefully unprepared to fight Huntresses and Huntsmen. Ryvin took three more as the fight went on. Nutmeg had long stopped firing as the combat wound to a close, advancing to reconvene with the rest of her Team. Another of the attackers took a look at Arcon before screaming and running in the opposite direction.

As more of the White Fang began to fall, the rest scattered into the town. The fight for the street was over.

Ryvin's voice came over the scrolls,

"Good job everybody. Meet me in the street."

The others replied they would, Immolen commenting as he approached,

"Where else does she think we'd be?"

Nutmeg offered a few helpful suggestions like the moon or Vale while Arcon shrugged and grunted softly, tidying up his topknot.

Everyone had their weapons away by the time Ryvin had arrived. She slung her rifle over her shoulder and smiled at her teammates.

"That was fantastic. Really. Now let's get rolling. Grimm won't be far behind."

Nutmeg smiled as wide as she could, then leaped at her team leader, enveloping Ryvin in a hug which Ryvin returned gracefully. Immolen nodded before looking upwards into the calm depths of space, while Arcon looked on with a small twinkle in his eye. You could almost miss it if you weren't looking hard enough.

The attack was not a common thing at all in the Kingdom of Vacuo, nor was a quartet of students doing what the police could not so familiar as to be normal. Nevertheless, it was the way of life that Team RAIN had adopted the year before, as time permitted. School kept them busy between exams and social callings, not to mention the upcoming Vytal Festival, held this year in Vale. Most of their time was made up of studying, practicing, and putting up with the habits of the other members of the team. Four people in one room can by trying on even the most patient of souls. Still, that room was theirs and therefore it was their home. They kept it clean and organized, each member personalizing their own bunk to suit themselves.

Of all the bunks, two stood out as the most organized and most messy, these being Arcon's and Nutmeg's respectively. Arcon kept his space curt and clean, with hospital corner bed making and a desk boasting the largest alphabetized collection of books outside of the Shade library. Nutmeg by comparison lived in a perpetual state of chaos, her bedsheets half off the mattress at all times, pillow buried underneath the covers, and with a desk cluttered to the rim with papers and books, half-finished essays and drawings scattered all across the floor in a rough perimeter of Nutmeg's space. The other two members of the team maintained their spaces to less extremes. Ryvin's bunk was moderately clean, her desk littered with stacks of plans and homework, everything in seemingly random order, but each pile keeping its own special place. Immolen kept all his things in drawers, and while the drawers were kept organized into categories, items were crammed inside and the drawers rarely closed.

Despite the radical differences in their own personal housekeeping, the group had made the room their own, each of them keeping their personal business up to date and helping out the rest of the team as needed. As was common with teams of Huntsmen and Huntresses the team knew each other as they knew their own minds, and it was this particular harmony of individuals that kept teams strong. So it was that the team existed in Shade academy, not the top of their class but certainly not the bottom.

It was well past midnight when they returned to their home, congratulating one another on a job well done. Such revelry would have gone on long into the night, had there not been exams the following day. Normally nothing would have shaken the team from a long evening of studying and a good night's sleep, but the White Fang required special attention. Apparently this was not a view shared by the head Prefect of their floor.

Fiula Tarrantine was, by nature, a human being of extraordinary punctuality and purpose, something that he hoped to pass on to the children under his care. His lessons were well learned throughout the school, with the exclusion of Team RAIN. No matter what he tried, he could not get them to stay within bounds of the academy. Not only were their academic careers in jeopardy, his reputation as a model student and dreams of becoming a professor were on the line too. This was something he let them know with great frequency.

"You ingrates!" he whispered as fiercely as he dared, fearful of waking someone of great importance or worse, somebody with a knack for rumor spreading, "How can you keep doing this? Don't you understand what's at risk? Our ancestor lay down the foundations of this school and you can't even be bothered to respect its rules? To your room immediately!"

The team trundled passed, thankful that they had not been punished and glad to get some rest. As they passed the prefect, Nutmeg asked,

"Same time this week Fiula?"

He nodded, responding,

"We're working on the history of Atlas now."

Nutmeg have him a salute and a wink before skipping off towards the room with the rest of Team RAIN.

The moment the team reached their room, they stripped off their weapons, put them away, and prepared for bed. Each member of the team had their own way of putting away their weapons, Arcon leaned his walking stick in the corner, Nutmeg put her pistol, and machete in a trunk, while Ryvin hung her rifle over the bedpost by its sling and Immolen placed his blade on a pair of pegs coming out from the wall. He stepped back to admire his work, gaining a comment from Nutmeg.

"If you took as good care of yourself as you did your sword you might make something of yourself."

Immolen snorted in laughter and replied, "If you put as much time on the range as you did in the garden you might hit something one day." Nutmeg glared at him for a moment before laughing away her moment of anger. Arcon rolled his eyes while Ryvin chided the two for being childish. They waved her comment away and continued to talk, Immolen taking his bottom bunk and Nutmeg leaping up to the top. They were old friends, Nutmeg and Immolen, growing up together long before they had been put on a team.

While they were undoubtedly close to the rest of their team, Immolen and Nutmeg were like peas in a pod. Indeed their families had been neighbors since before the two were born, and their bond was inevitable. Nutmeg was descended from a long line of Hunters, and it was she who had inspired Immolen to put aside the Dust shop of his parents and pursue the life of a warrior. He knew that he owned her everything he had now, and he never forgot it.

Arcon too had been part of a family of Hunters, and it was his life's work to become the most caring Huntsmen he could, though this was proving difficult as a compassionate warrior may be a contradiction of terms. Ryvin had been raised by a distant Uncle, whom she never mentioned. All the rest of the team knew that she had run away when she was young, sneaking in to the early years of Hunter training. She had been allowed to stay as it was bad form, not to mention embarrassing, for a school to expel the best in class.

The four had been pushed together after completing the ceremony of choosing teams, and were a group that few had anticipated doing as well as they did. The disparate members of Team RAIN seemed at first to be too different to work together effectively, but they proved such doubts wrong almost immediately. While they had trouble getting along on a more personal level for some time, in combat they were as effective as a well-tuned machine, quickly proving that they were a force to be reckoned with, if not one to be relied on for a timely essay. Still, in the life of a Hunter such things were expected and the professors let it go most times.

The strains of classic rock broke the early morning slumber of Team RAIN. Electric guitar and bass played in harmony while the drums kept a dancing beat and the singer began the words to a love song, until a rolled up pair of jeans smacked the radio off of Ryvin's desk. This act more than the alarm itself woke the leader of team RAIN up and she threw off her covers, leaping to the ground from her top bunk and picked up the alarm, checking it for cracks and scratches. The clock seemed to be in working order, and she set it back on her desk before checking to jeans to see who they belonged to. Reading the tag revealed them to be Immolen's, who opened his eyes fully at the ruckus and received a face full of denim.

"Do you know how much that clock cost?" Ryvin hissed, thoroughly annoyed that this was the start of her day.

Immolen shrugged, taking the time to remove the jeans and throw them into an ever growing pile of dirty laundry. "Ten?"

Ryvin narrowed her eyes before responding, "Five. But it was my money. Mine." They both looked over in surprise as Arcon cut into the conversation, the large man rarely saying anything before noon. "And so you feel more protective of it because of the rules of ownership."

The leader of Team RAIN nodded, thanking Arcon for understanding. Immolen responded with the fact that it was still a cheap clock, and therefore there was no reason to get upset, which Ryvin refuted by saying that the cost didn't matter, it was her property.

"Besides," She said, "You love that song." Immolen was forced to agree, prompting a laugh from Arcon as he stood and began to make his bed. Ryvin, after checking the clock once more, began to gather her things for a shower, while Immolen rolled out of bed and threw open his dresser to find something clean to wear. He was running short.

The whole team turned as their fourth member came crashing down from her position on the top bunk above Immolen, her head popping up like a startled squirrel as Nutmeg looked around bewildered for a moment. Suddenly realizing where she was she laughed it off and stood up to get ready, seeming no worse for wear due to her fall.

Luckily the team always awoke with more than enough time to get ready before classes began at eight. Breakfast was at seven, but most of the time they skipped it as they had a readily available supply of granola bars hidden under Arcon's bed. This was widely considered the best place to hid anything, and when Arcon had asked why Immolen responded,

"Well between you and I, who are they more likely to search? The straight and narrow, incredibly imposing giant or the troublemaking lunatic with anger issues?" a point to which Arcon had been forced to concede.

When posed the same question, Fiula had responded that he would rather not search either of them. Thankfully for him it was never his duty to search Team RAIN's room as he cleverly scheduled classes during potential room search times.

It was expressly against the rules at Shade Academy to have any kind of personal food or drink in your room, with the exception of water. Not many students listened to this rule, making it the most commonly punished offense in the entire school, with the close second of "out of practice combat". Team RAIN was no exception in this case, having been disciplined multiple times for getting into play fights with other students. All combat practice was to be conducted in official school arenas, to limit the potential for collateral damage and avoid disrupting the lives of the locals. Unfortunately there were only so many arenas and they were often booked through. On a good day, Ryvin could schedule an official practice after dinner at the latest.

Most days, this one being no exception, were spent in class and then onwards to practical usage of what the teams had been learning. This could be anything from practicing martial skill against other students or captured Grimm, or real-world tests of a team's response to a potential disaster. In Vacuo, Huntresses and Huntsmen were first responders as well as defenders. Whenever there was an emergency, one could be certain there would be Hunters around to help. Barring a full on invasion of the city, any kind of emergency could be simulated in the Shade Academy training centers. Despite the potential for real injuries that the students could face, which led to some controversy among the community, the scenarios prepared the generations of Huntsmen and Huntresses to a standard well respected by the rest of the Hunter academies.

First, Team RAIN went to history class, which had just covered the end of the last war and the forming of the current system of training Hunters. The class was interesting enough, and kept Arcon and Ryvin well enough entertained. For Immolen and Nutmeg this was information they had already learned in their previous school, and they therefore busied themselves with the important task of designing the most aerodynamic paper plane, with extra points added for real world inspiration. Nutmeg took an early lead with a scale model of an Atlas warship, which caused her competition to scowl as his own attempts at a transport ship from Vale falling apart in his hands. The professor, a mousy elderly woman who had seen too much bad behavior for her fair share of vacation days, glared at the pair but let them continue. They weren't disrupting the rest of the class, and if they failed it was their own fault. As far as she and indeed the rest of the professors were concerned, their students were adults now. They could make their own choices, come what may. The professor had no way of knowing of course that Nutmeg's father had been part of the Vacuo Historical Society, nor that Nutmeg had based all of her children's games around actual historical events. She and Immolen were more than prepared for the pop quiz that the professor had planned, acing the questions without so much as a flinch. The professor's glare only became more evident as she reviewed this. She could not argue with the evidence; the entire Team was incredibly well versed in Remnant's history.

Math came next, a subject in which Ryvin took the lead. She had a natural ability to calculate windage and gravity, and could even mark the turn of the earth down to a few inches. Most mathematics were simple to her, so she spent most of the class helping the rest of her team to keep up. More than one night had been lost tutoring Immolen, but she was proud of his progress. Their professor wasn't much help either, but they left that unsaid. Now they had entered the basics of trigonometry, causing Immolen to bury his head in his book. Ryvin gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, and told him they could work on it tonight.

After math came lunch, which was chicken with potatoes today and zucchinis for the vegetarians. Nutmeg and Arcon took heaps of food, while their teammates looked on over their much smaller portions.

Finally was Writing. While the arts had little to do with the practical training of a Hunter, the headmaster considered it a serious oversight to train his charges without an appreciation of culture and the finer points of art and music. Recently the class had moved on to poetry, and Arcon was the shining star of Shade Academy when it came to poetry. Described as "Moving," "Powerful," and "Simplicity at its most beautiful," his work was read and appreciated across the kingdom. Professor Magin fawned over him, calling the silent giant her greatest success. Arcon shrugged off the praise with a polite nod before going back to his work. Regardless of his seeming disinterest, he was quite proud of what he had accomplished.

Following writing was a two hour long period of practical combat and hunter on hunter training, all to prepare the students to make a good showing of themselves when the Vytal Festival finally rolled around. Team RAIN took fifth at the end of the day, which was not uncommon. After the fighting, the team stepped aside to shower and prepare for dinner, at which time they would discuss what had happened during the fighting and how to improve it. Ryvin started off the conversation,

"So we lost to TULP again. What happened?"

Immolen was the first to speak, "Uro got the better of me in the center. He's good with that spear." The rest of the team turned to him, and he poked at his food, muttering "So I'll get better." Ryvin did her best to keep from shaking her head in despair before she said,

"Or you could drag him out into the open. He knows I've got your back and he's scared." Immolen sat up straighter, indignant, but Ryvin kept speaking. "You can't beat him on your own. We've talked about this. If TULP loses him, they lose the fight." Now it was Arcon's turn to speak,

"He is the strongest member of their team." The team was silent for a long moment, Immolen gripping his fork a bit harder than was necessary. The dining hall was full of chatter, someone was dating someone else, there was a party tonight but it wouldn't be crazy, promise, the newest gossip. Team RAIN sat in a bubble of isolation, the entire air of the happy and functional team broken until Nutmeg forced herself to speak. "Laure and Taulanti went down easy though! And Arcon how was fighting Perseus?"

Arcon rumbled, "Even, as always."

Immolen sighed heavily and picked at his steak, appetite gone. "So I'll drag him next time. Sorry everyone." The rest of the team waved it away, and they went back to more cheerful banter.

That evening saw the team back in their room, each doing what they pleased. Ryvin studied team based strategy, pouring over every book she could find on the subject. She had gone through the academy's library twice, and had turned to the bookstores in town as of late. Arcon worked on more poetry, attempting to capture the visage of a rare purple flower he had found that day. Having conquered the petals and the smell, the trouble came from the stem. Having been ripped from the ground, the stem of the flower was broken and a sharp juxtaposition to the rest of itself, a contradiction he was struggling to express. Immolen was slaving over his math books, having finished his tutelage with Ryvin earlier that night. His progress was significantly sped up, but it would still take the majority of that night to master the subject. Nutmeg lay on her bed, twisting a string between her fingers. She would look at the rest of the team every now and then, alternating between sighing at their lack of exciting action or smiling contentedly. So far the string between her fingers had formed a star, an octopus, and an Ursa. She was working on a Deathstalker next.

She cast a glance at Arcon, his brows drawn close and his pencil to the side. One hand stroked his stubble, the other tried to frame the flowing in a way that would allow him to capture it correctly. Nutmeg rolled out of her bed, this time landing on her feet rather than crashing to the ground. She was surprisingly light in her landing, the sound not attracting the attention of any of her teammates. Walking up to Arcon, she leaned on his shoulder and studied the flower with him. If he was startled by her sudden appearance, he did not show it. The pair looked at their blooming subject for a few moments before Nutmeg asked,

"Why not put it in a vase?" Arcon had a lovely collection of small glass vases that he often kept full of flowers, though they had been empty for a while. He shrugged, and looked over at the vases that were still kept on the windowsill. Grabbing a smaller one, round and cleverly shaped to appear as though it had no flat bottom, he stood and went to the bathroom. Returning with the vase full of water, he placed the flower inside it, suspending in the glass orb. Now able to see the flower upright without his aid, his eyes widened for just a moment before going back to his poem reinvigorated.

As his companion turned to go, he said

"Nutmeg." She returned to his side and he gave her a hug with his other arm. She returned it happily, arms enveloping his head. He smiled, the stubble of his face scratching her arms and she giggled before she releasing him and turning to the next member of the team, Ryvin. The leader of Team RAIN looked up and smiled wearily at Nutmeg as she approached and plopped herself in Ryvin's lap, looking over what she was reading.

"Anything useful?"

Ryvin shook her head. "There's nothing that we haven't already used before. I've been trying to combine a few ideas into one, maybe make something original that we can do, but I'm coming up short. Any ideas?" Nutmeg paused for a moment, deep in thought before saying,

"Use our semblances."

Ryvin smiled gently, patting Nutmeg on the shoulder. "We already do. Besides, your semblance isn't combat based." Nutmeg seriously considered this for a few seconds before saying, "I know Immolen likes to fly."

Ryvin's leaned back in her chair, and stared at the ceiling as she thought. "That could work." She looked back at Nutmeg and smiled, saying, "Thanks". Nutmeg smiled back and tousled Ryvin's hair as she walked away. Ryvin took a moment to straighten herself up, playfully rolling her eyes.

Running up to Immolen, Nutmeg tackled her larger companion. The two rolled around on the floor for a moment before Nutmeg emerged victorious on top of the pile. Immolen was not amused and said,

"Excuse me." Nutmeg stared him down, her voice as level as his, and said,

"Show me how to make the Deathstalker again." Immolen smiled with one corner of his mouth and took the string once Nutmeg offered it. Demonstrating how to place her fingers he created the Deathstalker, much to her enjoyment. Handing it back, Immolen asked her to demonstrate. After a few tries, she succeeded and the two laughed, spending the rest of the night making creatures out of string. Fifteen minutes past midnight Nutmeg stretched and hopped off of Immolen, taking her string. He gave her a saddened look, but she stuck out her tongue and scrambled back up into her bed. He smirked and put away his work in favor of a game on his scroll before going to sleep. Ryvin and Arcon had long since begun to slumber, both of them happy with their progress. A new poem was safely weighed down by the vase containing its subject, and a new plan was hanging on the wall above Ryvin's desk. Waiting until she heard Immolen's light snores, Nutmeg smiled to herself, and slept.

The next morning was, thankfully, the weekend. The team woke up slower than usual, except for Arcon of course who was always awake at six. The rest of the team took their time, missing breakfast. Arcon, wondering quietly to himself how they could bear to be so lax in their schedules, took plates back for the rest of his companions. Immolen snapped up at the smell of bacon and threw off his blankets, nearly tripping over his own feet in his rush to grab a plate. With a bow in place of a thank you, his mouth already full, he took his plate back to bed and sat down to eat a bit slower. Arcon did not smile, but was amused all the same. Immolen put on his glasses, taking a moment to chew and savor the flavors that exploded into his mouth. It was rare that the school offered its students meat more than twice a week, and usually these special meals were reserved for Fridays. Meat on any other day, especially a weekend, meant that a new school event was coming up. Swallowing and contemplating the mixture of bacon, eggs, and apples, Immolen asked,

"So what's the occasion?"

Arcon too was chewing, cutting a piece off his pancakes and dipping them in syrup before answering,

"A dance to celebrate the Vytal Festival."

Immolen took another bite of bacon and smiled as he chewed the fatty meat, juices seeping into the deepest corners of his mouth, before wondering aloud,

"Isn't there a dance at the festival?"

Arcon shrugged and ate some his pancakes. He frowned as he tasted the syrup, which did not compare to the fresh syrup he had grown up with. Sighing at the lackluster taste of the factory made liquid, he resigned himself to eating the pancakes for sustenance alone before replying.

"It is custom, yes. I suspect this dance is preparation for the festival itself." Immolen nodded, going back to his food and muttering that he wouldn't mind the practice. Arcon nodded, amused again. There was a flurry of covers falling passed Immolen, thankfully missing his plate, and with a crash there was a pile of blankets on the floor. After a few moments of shuffling Nutmeg poked her head out of the heap. Gasping in joy, she leaped for a plate and disappeared back into her blankets.

"Why," Immolen asked, too puzzled to continue eating for the moment, "Do you insist on doing that every morning?"

Nutmeg took a bite of her apple slices before responding matter-of-factly, "It's too much trouble to untangle myself in the mornings." Immolen pondered her logic for a moment before shrugging it away and going back to his meal.

Ryvin woke up last, struggling to lift herself out of bed, and asking through sleep slurred lips,

"Izzat food?" Arcon nodded and brought her a plate. She thanked him and sat up fully to eat, her blond hair frizzy and chaotic in the morning sun. She did not notice as she began to eat her eggs. The team thanked Arcon again before the conversation turned to the upcoming dance. Who would dance with whom? What would everyone wear? What kind of music? After an hour of talk, the majority of the team decided they were still too tired to discuss it properly. Arcon's lips twitched in what could be considered a smile before he collected the plates and returned them to the dish room, leaving the rest of the team to get themselves ready for the rest of day.

Today would be spent relaxing. The next day they could practice Ryvin's new plan, but today was day of rest. Between fighting off the White Fang two days before and surviving classes every other, they felt it was a well-deserved respite. They played the Remnant: The Game for a while, Ryvin emerging victorious as head of Atlas, while Immolen muttered about the unfairness of card based games. Nutmeg, who had spent the majority of the game arranging her cards into a rather impressive house, still performed better than he. Next the team watched an historical documentary of the Great War, before splitting off to enjoy their time separately.

Ryvin went to the library to pick up a new novel or book about psychology, Arcon sat outside meditating, losing himself in the sounds of the natural world, and Immolen played a fighting game with Nutmeg. After the two fought to a stalemate, finding that best of seventy five was not a realistic number, they lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling. After a long moment's silence, Immolen said,

"It seemed more impressive when we were kids."

Nutmeg looked over, confused.

"The ceiling?"

Immolen laughed lightly before responding,

"No. Being a Hunter."

"Oh."

"I just thought," He began before cutting himself off, "Never mind."

Nutmeg slid over to him, and pinched him behind the ear. Immolen winced, but did not respond beyond that.

"Tell me." She whined. He sighed and nodded, silently relieved when her fingers were removed from his skin.

"You haven't done that in a long time." He said.

"You haven't kept a secret from me in a long time." She retorted. He snorted in laughter, nodding in agreement before continuing.

"I just thought that once we were Huntsmen and Huntresses that everything would make sense, you know? That it would all come naturally, be easy. But everything's more complicated now."

Nutmeg nodded slowly, taking her time to respond. "Why were we in a hurry to grow up?"

Immolen took a moment to consider this before saying, "I don't know. Only one of us did." Nutmeg clicked her tongue in annoyance and shoved her companion, who broke out laughing. She could not help but join in and soon the pair were rolling on the floor, collapsed in giggles. The laughter died down eventually, and Immolen said,

"I really am sorry."

Nutmeg's eyes flashed with fear, and she resisted the immediate urge to reel away like a startled animal.

"I know you are."

Immolen nodded and sighed heavily, but said nothing else. Nutmeg wrapped her arms around him and squeezed him close to herself. It took him a moment to return the motion, hugging his old friend as tightly as he could, and for a moment, just a moment, they felt safe.

The next day was planned to be much the same, with the added bonus of going down to the city gardens to see the plants in flower. The team would practice their new strategy that night, Ryvin had booked them an hour in the arena alone. It would have been a lovely way to spend the rest of their weekend, had Immolen not gotten a tip from one of his old friends about a camp that was suspiciously military and potentially White Fang. Not knowing if the camp was something to worry about, Team RAIN prepared for combat. They had taken it upon themselves long ago to spend every moment they could hunting down and eliminating the violent Faunus organization. The camp was not far outside the city limits, supposedly holding the remnants of the group they had driven off days previous. Hoping this was true the team snuck out of the academy, the prefects distracted by the business of searching incoming students for any kind of illicit material. They slipped away from Shade and began working their way out of the city. It would have taken most of a day to walk to the area in question, but fortunately Arcon knew people who knew people and the success of his latest poems had granted him enough capital to afford a small top of the line car. The team piled in, a bit squished but functional nonetheless. Arcon, hoping the new muffler he installed the previous week was up to snuff, started up the car and off they went.

The few hours it would take to get to their destination were spent by checking equipment and fastening armor as each member made sure that they were fully prepared for the coming fight. The White Fang were not known for giving up easily.

"Everyone ready?" Ryvin asked. Immolen nodded, adjusting his gloves. Nutmeg as well gave the affirmative, aiming down the sights of her pistol before smiling happily that the weapon was aligned properly. Arcon nodded, eyes on the road.

The car stopped a few miles outside the potential location of the camp. Immolen trusted his informant, but one couldn't be too careful.

"I hope we didn't come all this way for nothing." He muttered as he stepped out of the car and made sure that his sword was secure on his back. Nutmeg laughed loud and clear, before covering her mouth in embarrassment. She drew her pistol and machete, shifting into forms where they could be combined with one another to form her assault rifle. Ryvin slide her sniper rifle into her hands from its sling around her shoulder and took off into the dunes, disappearing into the dark like she was a shadow herself. Immolen frowned and took off after her. He didn't like it when she did that. Nutmeg grinned and ran into the forest, excited for the coming mission. Arcon's lips twitched. It was almost a smile, but not quite. It was a close as he got most of the time. He put one foot in front of the other, walking stick in hand, and he too strode into the dark.


	2. Chapter 2

Team RAIN was in position around the White Fang camp. The White Fang had settled in between two sand dunes, the desert hiding them for the most part. The camp itself was a shoddy affair, raised in a hurry. Tents were thrown up on whatever was available, sticks and even weapons, makeshift fire pits kept the White Fang warm in the chill of the desert night, and was missing a competent perimeter patrol. The two Faunus who had unfortunately been assigned to keep watch met Immolen in the dark and now neither of them would be returning to camp. Ryvin was laying atop a sand dune to get a better view of the camp and was calling out the positions of the White Fang she could see.

"There's four by the fire, and two more just beyond it sitting next to the far tent."

Arcon spoke up, being the closest to this pair, the opposite side from Ryvin. "I see their silhouettes."

Rvyin checked them off in her mind before continuing. "There's three in the two tents near you Nutmeg. Two of them on your right, one on the left."

Nutmeg's response was singsong, too happy for what the team was planning. "Thank you, thank you!"

Ryvin rolled her eyes before continuing to scan the camp, realizing that after Immolen had attacked the patrol he had disappeared.

"Immolen? Where are you?"

"Near the largest tent." He whispered, and Ryvin's gaze shifted over to a tent to her left, standing alone. It was only the largest tent in the clearing as far as height was concerned, but it must have held someone of importance to have drawn Immolen's attention. His whisper came over the team's scrolls, "Someone's talking. I'll try to listen in."

Ryvin scowled. This wasn't part of the plan, but information was too valuable to lose. "Do it, but be careful." She said.

"I always am." He responded before his line went. Ryvin resisted the urge to trace the scar on her face. "No you're not." She murmured to herself.

Immolen crawled as close to the tent as he dared while still being able to listen in. Moving on his belly, he muttered under his breath about the virtues of interrogation as compared to eavesdropping. He was a good six feet away from the tent and feared getting any closer, the combination of his armor and breathing just enough to be out of place in the sounds of the camp. Taking out his scroll, he threw it towards the tent, hoping that it would slide under the canvas and go unnoticed. His aim was off, and the scroll smacked into the tent with a muffled thump. He cursed and reached back for his sword in case someone came to investigate. No one did, but he remained prepared. Without his scroll he would have to rely on his own senses.

The rest of the team was startled by the loud thump from their scrolls, and Ryvin asked,

"What's he doing?"

Nutmeg recovered quickest. It was not the first time Immolen had done this to her. "He threw his scroll to get it closer."

Ryvin's jaw dropped slightly in disbelief. "He cut himself off?" Nutmeg shrugged as though Ryvin could see her, and said, "He knows what he's doing."

Ryvin moaned in despair at her teammate. "Well I don't. When is he going to learn he can't just go off like that?" Before Nutmeg could come to the defense of her old friend, Arcon broke into the conversation.

"Listen." The other two members of the team immediately paid rapt attention to their scrolls. Sure enough, voices were coming through.

Of the two voices, one was substantially clearer than the other. The second voice was distorted and electronic, as though this second speaker were communicating over some kind of communicator. This second person had distinct deepness their voice and exuded calm. The first speaker, who the team correctly assumed occupied the tent in question, was much more agitated and his shouts sometimes could be heard without the scrolls. Unbeknownst to either party, extra ears were listening in. Team RAIN caught onto the conversation as the man in the tent was saying,

"...don't know where they came from. I've told you everything that my people told me before they went quiet."  
Now it was the second person's turn to speak.

"It was your decision to leave them behind. Their deaths are on your head Commander Taor. When I gave you this command, I assumed that I was leaving that sector in the hands of a capable leader. It would appear that I was mistaken."

The man in the tent, Taor, spoke again, and sounded apologetic, "It won't happen again, we'll be better prepared the next time-" The second speaker cut him off.

"There won't be a next time for you, Commander Taor. You are to return to headquarters where you will be stripped of your rank and a more trustworthy individual instated in your place."

Taor was getting panicked, his breaths loud enough to translate over the scroll and his pace of speaking quickened. "But I've done well out here. Our Dust income has never been higher and whatever guards there were are running scared. Send me a few more soldiers, we can deal with the people who attacked us."

There was a long pause before the second person spoke again. "You were entrusted with dozens of lives when that post was assigned to you and now thirteen of these lives have been lost due to your incompetence as a leader. Make no mistake Commander Taor, these deaths were completely avoidable and therefore blame lies with you. I feel made a good decision recalling the majority of your forces, and I expect you to return by tomorrow evening. You are dismissed."

Taor shouted "General, wait!" but the other line had already gone dead. The White Fang commander's breath heaved for a moment before he roared and threw something aside, the sounds of glass breaking and wood splintering filling the air for a moment. He strode out of the tent, muttering,

"Damn Hunters, damn humans. Let me get my hands on them, I'll…" and with that his voice faded and the flaps to the large tent were thrown open to reveal Taor. Ryvin was the only one with a clear view, and she gasped in shock at the sight of him. He was a massive Faunus, bull horns poking out either side of his head, easily standing seven and a half feet, muscles bulging from his skin like rocks in the surf, traditional White Fang mask pulled up over his hair to reveal murderous eyes. His huge fists were clenched in rage, and his knuckles were covered by the sharp metal protrusions he wore around his fingers. He glared around the camp for a moment before stalking to the edge of the firelight and called out a few names.

"What's he doing?" Nutmeg whispered over the scrolls, suddenly afraid that he might have discovered Immolen behind his tent.

"Calling the patrol." Breathed Ryvin, barely more than a whisper. She didn't want her speaking to ruin her shot, crosshairs lined up with the back of Taor's head. Her shock was gone. Arcon spoke then, calm as the ground on which they stood.

"When you're ready, Ryvin."

She responded, "Of course." She had the shot. Everything was in place. Making sure she could be heard while maintaining her accuracy, Ryvin said, "Let's start this party," and squeezed the trigger.

Taor knelt, tightening the fastens on his pauldrons. As he did so the quiet murmurs of camp were shattered by a crack like the breaking of waves on rock, and a bullet whistled above his head. He roared out,

"Attack!" and rolled away, behind the cover of the tent. It would not provide any actual protection but it hid him from Ryvin's view. She cursed her bad luck and turned her attention from the White Fang leader to his soldiers. The sound of the shot had broken any sense of calm that had pervaded the camp, now White Fang were searching frantically for the source of the attack. Some of the Faunus rushed to the commander's tent to make sure he was safe, and as they did so a roar erupted as Immolen burst from the entry flaps, blade drawn. His appearance caught the White Fang completely by surprise, they had no time to defend themselves. His first strike rose up from the ground, connecting with the chest of the first White Fang. The unfortunate soul screamed as he was sent flying a few feet away, landing face down on the dirt, unmoving. The rest of the group froze in horror, only regaining their senses after Immolen had slain another of their company. As they moved in to attack, gunfire popped and snapped in short bursts, catching the White Fang from behind. Nutmeg was moving into the camp, crouched to keep herself a small target, and firing into the mass of White Fang that was forming around Immolen. Some of the group split off to attack this new threat, pistols rising to fire upon the Huntress when another crack split the night and then another. Two of the White Fang fell and the rest scattered for cover. Ryvin pulled back the bolt on her rifle and chambered a fresh round, a grimly satisfied smile on her face as she searched for another target.

Taor rose from his hiding place, hoping that in the confusion he would not be a new target for the sniper. As he began to run back towards the camp to join the fray, something appeared in front of his ankle and he tripped. Catching himself and rolling with the fall to land on his feet as best he could, the commander of these White Fang looked up to see a huge man dressed in black leaning on a walking stick.

"Damn Hunters." Taor cursed, rising to his feet and roared a battle cry before charging at his opponent, aiming to end them with a single punch of his spiked knuckles. Except he couldn't. Every punch he threw was turned aside by a deft movement of the Hunter's walking stick, every attack was countered, every sidestep matched perfectly. Taor glared at his foe and continued the assault, hoping that he could punch a way through the Hunter's defenses.

Behind the battling Arcon and Taor the remaining White Fang were caught between Immolen and Nutmeg, and any who ran were picked off by Ryvin. One of the White Fang managed to close the distance to Nutmeg and swung wildly at her. With the sound of gears whirling and screws unfastening, her assault rifle split in two, the double edged bayonet on the front extending into one blade and the grip snapping behind the barrel to form the hilt of her machte. The stock of her rifle folded back into the gun itself, shortening the weapon into a pistol. Catching the attack in the air with her machete, Nutmeg leveled her pistol with the White Fang's chest and unloaded her clip with all the gun's automatic fury. The White Fang was thrown backwards, his chest a bloody mess of what it had been. His two comrades who had joined him in attacking Nutmeg screamed and tried to run, one of them cut down by Nutmeg's machete, and the other shot down by Ryvin. Immolen was mopping up the rest of the group that had attacked him, swinging high and catching a White Fang in the temple before they could land a blow, then deflecting a wild stab and slashing the second attacker's stomach open. He turned to the last White Fang, who dropped his weapon and ran off into the night, screaming. Immolen sighed and shifted his sword. With a metallic twang the twin blades that made up the double edged blade swung outwards, a thin metal line pulling them into position. The inward curve of the blades would now separate into sections, which would provide the elasticity and resistance he needed to make his bow work. Reaching behind his head he pulled out his only arrow. Knocking it to the metal line, he drew the bow to full length and loosed the arrow into the dark. He heard a sharp cry, he had struck home. Reaching into the air, his found the wire attached to the arrow and began to pull, the wire retracting into the quiver on his back. After a few moments the White Fang who had run was dragged back into the light, fingers scraping wildly at the sand without purchase, the arrow buried in their upper left calf. Putting one foot on the Faunus's back, Immolen delivered a punch to the back of the White Fang's skull and they fell unconscious. He reached down to the shaft of his arrow and, gripping as close to the White Fang's flesh as he could, twisted and pulled the arrow until it popped back out. Shaking it free of blood, he returned it to his quiver. He turned and saw Arcon dueling Taor.

Taor realized fully that he was beaten. He could not give up, he would not give up to this human. They had humiliated him once before. Throwing his whole weight into a right hook, Taor found his force used against him as the Hunter stepped to the side and guided the blow to the ground with his walking stick. Taor fought the urge to smile as he twisted his body and grabbed a handful of sand as his palm scraped the ground. Turning back to face the Hunter, he threw the dirt into his opponent's face, who bellowed in pain and reared away, one hand over their eyes. Now it was Taor's turn to have the advantage. He reeled back for a savage punch to his foe's gut when he saw beyond the duel.

His forces were gone.

And the other Hunters were coming in to aid their fellow. He cursed and ran into the night, ducking behind the tent to hide himself from the short Huntress with the gun. It didn't look like a sniper rifle, but he knew that some warriors could change their weapons. He dashed into the night, already planning his next move.

Ryvin climbed down from her perch and lifted her rifle to her shoulder, aiming for the escaping commander. She let out a long breath. She was young again, the day she had run away from home. She was sitting by the lake outside of the first stage Hunter academy, her feet inches above the water but never breaking the surface. The lake was so still as to be a mirror, so calm as to be timeless. She squeezed the trigger. There was no need to check her aim.

"Ooh! Good shot!" Nutmeg squealed and leaped at her team leader, arms wrapping themselves around her shoulders and legs wrapping around Ryvin's waist. Ryvin laughed, the seriousness of the previous moment gone and she hugged Nutmeg back with one arm, the other still holding her rifle. Immolen agreed, though his voice was quieter, his blade back in its sword form and sheathed on his back, kneeling next to the captured White Fang. Arcon blinked rapidly, muttering curses about his opponent's lack of honor and cowardice as he tried to clear his vision.

Ryvin walked up to Immolen, Nutmeg still wrapped around her body and asked,

"Is he alive?"

Immolen nodded.

"I was careful this time."

Ryvin nodded and waddled over to Arcon to check on him. Upon seeing the slothlike Nutmeg encompassing his leader's form, Arcon's lips twitched in that maybe smile again.

"Your calm is impressive." He said. Ryvin looked away, cheeks red in embarrassment.

"I've been watching you meditate." She responded. Arcon did not respond aside from a small flash of pride in his eyes. Nutmeg muttered something about keeping calm and carrying things, her voice muffled as he mouth was buried in Ryvin's shoulder. The three of them turned when Immolen called over,

"He's coming around!"

Nutmeg leaped off of Ryvin and ran for Immolen. The smaller Huntress leaned into her old friend, nuzzling his shoulder with her head.

"Can I question him? Please please please?"

Immolen laughed and hugged Nutmeg to himself, looking at her with a smile. "If you like." Ryvin waved a hand that said it was fine and Team RAIN gathered around the member of the White Fang to see what they could learn.

The of the White Fang snapped awake, hands immediately clutching his calf and screaming. Immolen snarled something under his breath and ripped the man's hands away, placing them by his side. Arcon knelt by the wounded Faunus, and took a bandage out from his pocket. Not minding the weak kicking he received from the White Fang, Arcon grabbed the wounded Faunus's leg and wrapped the bandage around carefully, hoping the thicker cloth he had added would staunch the blood. He grabbed the wounded Faunus's legs so as to keep him from struggling and making the wound worse than it already was. The Faunus continued screaming unintelligible words and curses until Nutmeg sat on his stomach and placed one hand over his mouth. She shushed him quietly, smiling like a mother would with a disturbed child. The Faunus fell silent, eyes wide in both shock and terror. The suddenness of what was happening was too much for him to comprehend. Ryvin stood off to the side, scroll at the ready to record what transpired.

Removing her hand from the Faunus's mouth, Nutmeg said, "Hi! I'm Nutmeg. It's a pleasure to meet you. What's your name?"

The Faunus said nothing, eyes only widening more. Nutmeg pouted and turned away, removing her hand from the Fanunus's mouth.  
"I guess I'll just talk to myself then," Nutmeg muttered, crossing her arms and slouching. The Faunus's eyes widened even further, and he burst out with

"Roger! I'm named Roger."

Nutmeg immediately brightened up, whirling back around and clapping her hands in joy. "Hi Roger!"

Roger looked away, unable to meet his captor's eyes. "Uh...hey."

Nutmeg smiled as wide as she could and asked, "So how are you doing? I hope you're doing well!" Her smile disappeared in an instant and she leaped off of Roger, checking him over and making sure he was healthy. Roger looked to Immolen, wondering if the Huntress was always like this. Immolen glared back at the Faunus, a low growl building in his throat. Roger's eyes widened again and he looked back to Nutmeg. She was still frantically looking over him, and his voice seemed to startle her.

"Well aside from uh…" he inclined his head to the wound on his calf, "...that, I'm doing okay. A bit terrified for my life right now, but okay." Nutmeg cooed and leaped over his legs gracefully, checking on the wound. It was doing much better, Arcon's improvements to the bandage exceeding expectations. Nutmeg leaned down and studied the wound before nodding in satisfaction and leaping back over Roger's legs. The Faunus's expression only became more confused as he watched the Huntress. He had seen plenty of strange humans in his time, but this one was pushing the limit of insane. Nutmeg knelt next to Roger, leaning forwards so as to put her face inches from his own. "I think you'll be fine." She said and smiled, placing a hand on Roger's shoulder. Instantly he felt calmer, more relaxed, almost like he was among friends. Nutmeg looked up at her companions, who nodded and let go of Roger's limbs. The Faunus kept his leg outstretched, but otherwise relaxed, leaning on one hand to steady himself and conversing with Nutmeg. Standing off the side, Arcon leaned towards Immolen and asked,

"How does she do that?"

Immolen shrugged. "I have no idea. She just has that effect on people."

Nutmeg laughed at something that Roger said, before asking,

"So why do you do it?"

Roger frowned, confused. He had thought that they were having a lovely conversation about the future of Vacuo, but suddenly the tone had shifted. He wasn't sure he liked it.

"Do what?" he asked, and Nutmeg cocked her head to the side like a bird. When she spoke it was like a chirp.

"The White Fang."

Roger smiled again, responding with practiced ease, "To break free from human tyranny and establish the respect that the Faunus rightfully deserve."

Nutmeg cocked her head to the other side, eyes narrowed and brow furrowed. "But Vacuo is more open to the Faunus. If you can live here, you're accepted here."

Roger nodded, still smiling, his expression placid and his eyes blank. "But the humans still control everything. I mean look at you, four human Hunters taking down the White Fang. What else are we supposed to do?"

Nutmeg threw back her head and laughed, a wonderfully pure sound like that of a thousand birds chirping in unison. "We're not all human, silly!"

Roger frowned and leaned back as Nutmeg motioned for Immolen to approach. He stalked up from behind the White Fang member and leaned towards Roger, looking over the rim of his glasses. Behind the lenses his eyes were blue, but beyond the glass, yellow. He smirked at Roger, whose jaw dropped, and returned to his position.

"B-but why? Why hide what you are?" Roger called out, turning around and looking at Immolen. The Huntsman shrugged, the smirk gone. "Because not every kingdom is as accepting as this one." Roger's mouth fell open again and he turned back to Nutmeg, utterly bewildered. Nutmeg laughed again and patted Roger on the shoulder, who said, "I don't understand. Why would anyone want to-" his eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed. Arcon sprung into action, ripping away the bandage to reveal the wound. It had not stopped bleeding, the thicker fabric only serving to cover up the seeping red liquid. Immolen cursed and watched Arcon at work, furiously laboring to staunch the flow of blood. He was reaching for his suture kit before Roger gave out a long breath and lay still. Arcon frowned and waved his hand at Immolen, saying,

"Try to resuscitate him." Arcon grabbed his needles and thread and began to stitch the wound while Immolen pumped the Faunus's chest. Nutmeg scrambled away from the wounded Roger, huddling against Ryvin and sobbing. The leader of Team RAIN put one arm around Nutmeg and attempted to soothe her, whispering that it wasn't her fault.

A few tense moments passed before Immolen called out, "He's up!" and everyone let out a sigh of relief. While Immolen made sure that Roger kept breathing, Arcon gently rolled the White Fang member onto his stomach and stitched closed the other side of his wound before applying bandages again. Leaning back and putting away his suture kit, Arcon nodded, satisfied with his work. Nutmeg stopped crying and rushed over to Roger, putting an ear to his chest and smiling when she heard a heartbeat. She looked to both Immolen and Arcon and mouthed a silent "Thank you." Arcon nodded again, that maybe smile playing at the corners of his mouth, and Immolen smiled back at Nutmeg, leaning away from Roger. Ryvin shut off her recording.

"Nicely done," she said, before sitting next to Nutmeg. Nutmeg reached over for a hug, thanking Ryvin for trying to calm her. Ryvin smiled and returned the hug, saying it was her pleasure.

"Come on," Ryvin said, "Grimm won't be far behind."

Roger came to surrounded by Hunters, prompting him to try and scramble away. He was immediately held down by the pair of Huntsmen, though his leg would have prevented him from getting far. He suddenly realised that he was no longer in the desert, he was lying on a wooden table, the light was provided by electricity rather than flame, and the stars were hidden behind concrete. Terror clutched at his throat and refused to let go, choking any cries for help or pleas for mercy before they could be spoken. He need not have worried, Team RAIN was not about to hurt him, but Roger did not know this, and looked down as one of the Huntsmen, the mountain of a man, took off the bandages around Roger's wounded calf and inspected the injury. After a few moments he told the team to roll Roger onto his chest, and checked the exit wound. Nodding curtly, Arcon let the team roll Roger back over and rewrapped the wound with a fresh bandage. Roger wasn't sure whether to be grateful or to try running again. He opted for the former, hoping that these humans would decide to continue showing mercy.

After Roger's wound was redressed all of Team RAIN, excluding Nutmeg, left the room, and suddenly the Faunus and the Huntress were alone. She smiled at him and he couldn't help but smile back. There was something about her, this Huntress, something in her manner that was infectious and wonderful, but terrified and delicate all at once. Roger so desperately wanted to assure her that her smile was wonderful, he wanted to protect her from whatever dared to harm her. He shook his head slightly to clear his mind of such thoughts. She was a human, she was the enemy. But she was also taking care of him. Could she really be that bad?

Roger's eyes had drifted from Nutmeg's in the time it took him to contemplate all of this, and Nutmeg asked,

"Is something wrong?"

Roger snapped to attention, eyes once again meeting Nutmeg's and his smile returned, prompting her to smile wider. "Nothing's wrong!" he said, "Nothing at all."

"Good!" Nutmeg said, hopping up to sit on the table that Roger was lain on. She was careful to avoid bumping him in her leap, she did not want to agitate the injury. Her feet dangled half a dozen inches above the floor and she swung her legs back and forth. She smiled again, more to herself than Roger, only turning her attention back to the Faunus when he chuckled at her. She looked worried, as though she was insulted, and Roger quickly put up his hands in a peacemaking gesture, saying, "Sorry. I don't know why I laughed."

Nutmeg's smile returned as quickly as it had gone and she laughed as well, and soon the two were laughing up a storm. Nutmeg wiped away tears of joy as the noise calmed down and she said, "I like to make people laugh. I like laughing." Roger let out a final chuckle before "Hmm"ing quietly to himself. Even if these Hunters were murderous psychopaths only keeping him alive to torture information out of him later, Roger was glad to have met this Huntress, this Nutmeg. "You have a nice laugh." He said, not daring to meet her eyes. Had he done so, he would have seen them light up in absolute euphoria and she leaped on top of him, hugging him as best she could. He struggled to breathe through the embrace, and was secretly relieved when Nutmeg let him go. "Thank you!" She said, still squirming in happiness, "That makes me really happy."

Roger chuckled, "I can tell," and the conversation dissolved into laughter again. Nutmeg was glad she had met Roger, most of the White Fang they captured didn't want to have fun. Roger certainly did, and Nutmeg loved having fun.

Three hours passed before Nutmeg emerged from the room where Team RAIN was keeping Roger. The room was a side building to the garage where Arcon kept his car, and the team was resting there after their mission. The rest of the team waited expectantly, Immolen sat on a stool with his arms crossed, Ryvin busied herself with plans and tactics, looking up from time to time at the door, and Arcon absentmindedly tinkered with his car. Nutmeg walked out and the three looked up in unison, wondering aloud how things had gone.  
"Just wonderful! Did you know that Roger has a younger sister and she's looking to be Huntress? He said she'd tried to convince him to leave the White Fang before but he'd refused. Oh, oh, oh! And he likes birds! I finally found someone else who likes birds!" Smiling, Nutmeg skipped towards the open garage door, right passed the rest of her team, whose eyes followed her as she went.

"Uh, Nutmeg," Ryvin spoke up, causing Nutmeg to turn around curiously, "Did he say anything about their base?" Nutmeg considered the question seriously, furrowing her brow and putting her hand on her chin in thought. She hummed for a few moments before responding, "I don't think so." and skipped out of the garage with a happy whistle on her lips. Ryvin put her head in her hands and groaned "This is why we don't let her question people."

Immolen laughed and took out his sword, reaching for a rag to clean it with. Arcon shook his head and continued tinkering with his car. Taking another moment to lament over the potential loss of information, Ryvin groaned again and walked out of the garage to look for Nutmeg. It was all well and good that Nutmeg was enjoying herself, but the White Fang were a serious problem and needed to be dealt with. Nutmeg, being her usual jovial self, preferred to be friendly rather than aggressive. Besides, Roger was interesting and new, something that Nutmeg craved.

Ryvin found her teammate sitting on the edge of a fountain dipping her feet into the water and making small whirlpools as she whistled to herself. Ryvin approached slowly, making sure not to startle her teammate.

"Hey." She called out, and Nutmeg shot upright, arms flailing and she nearly fell into the fountain. Her head whipped around, brown hair flying wildly, her eyes wide and her mouth half open in fear.

"It's just me." Ryvin said, giving Nutmeg a friendly smile. Nutmeg did not move, frozen like a deer startled by the sudden crack of a breaking stick. Ryvin did not advance, instead smiling wider and saying,

"I wanted to sit on the fountain with you." Nutmeg's eyes shifted from Ryvin to the fountain and then, with an obvious effort, the Huntress relaxed her body and returned the smile. "Come on over!" she said, waving to Ryvin. Ryvin walked over, removed her shoes and rolled up her pants before hopping up on the fountain's edge and dipping her feet next to Nutmeg's. The two made whirlpools for a while, trying to stir the entire fountain but only affecting the water around them. Nutmeg considered the water for a moment before saying,

"We need more feet."

Ryvin laughed and agreed, saying that more feet was always a good thing. Nutmeg giggled and nodded happily, leaning into Ryvin lightly, who put on arm around her teammate. The water was cool, and it felt good in the oppressive heat of Vacuo. The two sat like that for a while, enjoying the quiet. A moment of calm in a world of chaos is not a thing to be discarded.


	3. Chapter 3

It would be another few hours before Nutmeg returned to talk with Roger. Ryvin had made sure that Nutmeg promised she would try to get some kind of information about the White Fang out of their Faunus captive, not that his personal life wasn't interesting, it just wasn't the information they needed. So in Nutmeg went, and the door closed behind her. This talk did not go on for long, not even ten minutes, until Nutmeg was chased out of the room by the sounds of angry shouting and cursing. She had been smiling when she entered, now she was reduced to tears. She collapsed to the ground in front of the door, the team rushing to her aid. Her teammates knelt next to her, trying to comfort her. She did not respond, instead curling up into a ball and holding her head in her hands. Immolen rose to his feet faster than anyone could follow and it was pure luck that Arcon stood between him and the door. Arcon put one hand on his teammate's chest, keeping him from entering the still open door.

"Immolen, please." Arcon said, eyes steady, voice level. Immolen glared at the larger man for a moment before growling,

"Move."

Arcon was not intimidated, and asked in that same calm voice,"Why?"

"That White Fang scumbag." Immolen's growl had turned into a snarl, his expression darkening, eyebrows slanting and lips pulled back to reveal pointed teeth.

Arcon did not react aside from shifting his weight to a more comfortable stance. "What about him?"

"I'm gonna kill him!" Immolen shouted, trying to push passed Arcon. The larger man's expression did not change, and he grappled with Immolen for a moment, holding him in place.

Nutmeg's sobs grew louder, and she crumpled into herself even more, hiding her face behind her knees. Ryvin looked at her other two teammates, her eyes wide in fear and her jaw set with determination at the same time. "Stop! Please. It's not helping anything."

Hearing Nutmeg's moans as if for the first time, Immolen's anger faded almost immediately and was replaced with a distress so profound and apologetic that anyone would wonder if he were not two people trapped in one body. He knelt by Nutmeg, hands hovering just over her form, unsure of how to comfort his friend.

"No I didn't-" he started, stopped, and started again, "I wasn't going to-I-I was-" He fell away, landing on the ground with a solid thud and put his head in his hands. "I didn't meant to. I'm sorry, I didn't meant to." He moaned, and then moaned it again, repeating the phrase over and over again as Ryvin and Arcon tried to calm Nutmeg.

Helpless for the better part of the evening, Ryvin and Arcon retreated away from their teammates, unsure of how to proceed.

"This is unfortunate." Arcon murmured, deep in thought, sitting on the hood of his car. Ryvin paced back and forth in front of him, hands clasped into fists at her side and then unclasping as she tried to think rationally. "It's been forever since she had a breakdown like this. And now him too, I just-" She bit her lip, afraid to say it. Arcon looked up, meeting her eye.

"I understand." He said. Ryvin sighed heavily, letting out some of the stress, and sat next to Arcon on the car, watching.

Immolen looked up, still muttering his phrase, his voice hoarse. Leaning forward, he fell on his hands and crawled towards Nutmeg. Reaching her, he put out a hand and tapped gently on her shoulder. Her head snapped up, just enough to show her eyes, red and puffy, fresh tears still flowing down her cheeks even though her sobs had stopped long ago. Had she been able to start them again, she would have as she saw Immolen. His hand leapt back to his side and he collapsed next to her again, whispering "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Arcon tapped Immolen on the shoulder.

"Stand."

Immolen did so, unsteady on his feet, eyes darting from place to place. Arcon next went to Nutmeg and put one hand gently on her shoulder, whispering to her,

"Come now, smile. How will I write poetry with you so sad?"

Nutmeg's eyes emerged from beneath her knees and she sniffled. Arcon smiled at her, a genuine smile, and she tried to smile too. She did as best she could, and stood when Arcon offered her his hand. Immolen cast her a glance out of the corner of his eye, head still bowed in shame.

Nutmeg rubbed her hand under her nose and sniffled again. Arcon stood between the two, and said, "It will do you both good to talk."

So Nutmeg did.

"Immolen," she said, and Arcon took a respectful step back, "You scare me." He nodded, but did not say anything. Nutmeg continued. "I don't want to be scared any more."

Immolen looked up, barely meeting his old friend's gaze. "I'm trying, you know that I am."

Nutmeg nodded, and Immolen continued.

"I never wanted to hurt you." He looked around, at Arcon and Ryvin, "Any of you."

Ryvin chimed in, still sitting on the hood of the car, "We know."

Immolen stared back at the ground, muttering, "Maybe I should go."

"No!" Immolen's looked back up at the shout, and found Nutmeg inches from his face, her eyes brimming with fresh tears. "Don't you give up." She said through gritted teeth, "Don't you dare give up." Immolen did not know what to do, but managed.

"Ok." He said, and the two embraced, hugging one another as tightly as they could. Ryvin and Arcon looked on with both relief and pride respectively. "We should talk abou it." Arcon said, "What happened."

Ryvin walked over, closing the distance between the car and her team in three long strides.

"Why? What good will that do?"

Arcon looked at her, level, calm. "These wounds are still fresh. We need closure."

Immolen looked to Arcon and agreed, Nutmeg nodded into her teammate's chest. Ryvin sighed and shifted from foot to foot. "Fine." She said, "But close the doors."

Once the garage door and the door to Roger were shut, Team RAIN sat down in a circle. No one wanted to speak, every member of the team looking from one member to another. An distasteful air began to rise. Ryvin bit her lip and looked over the ground for guidance. Immolen tapped his fingers together absentmindedly, barely making eye contact with the rest of his team. Nutmeg rocked back and forth, legs hugged tightly to her chest, eyes poking up over her knees. Arcon took a deep breath, in and out. It was not his place to start this conversation.

Finally, with a heavy sigh, Immolen spoke. "It was my fault."

No one responded. Still unable to meet the eyes of his friends, Immolen continued, "I lost control, and I hurt you all. I've always been...unstable, but it never got that bad till right then."

"We don't blame you," Ryvin spoke up, voice close to quavering. "You lost your family."

"To the White Fang." Arcon's voice rumbled across the group like an earthquake. As one, the team looked at the door to Roger for a long moment before Immolen spoke again, voice sharp and bitter, "That doesn't make it better. I attacked you," He looked up at Ryvin, eyes wide, close to tears. "I know you don't forgive me for that." Ryvin looked away, resisting the urge to run a finger down the scar from her forehead, over her eye, and down to her chin.

"You're right." She whispered, "But you just got angry." Arcon nodded his agreement, his gaze level with Immolen's. Immolen took off his glasses, blue eyes becoming yellow as he did. The rest of the team grew wary, and Nutmeg hid herself behind her knees again.

"Right there." Immolen said, gesturing to the team, "That's how badly my getting angry screwed us up."

Ryvin put a hand out towards Immolen, almost slow enough to be tentative, "Immolen-" he cut her off,

"I'm almost always angry about something, Ryvin. I can control it, I have my entire life, and then-then everything went wrong."

Arcon's expression became a glower, and Immolen could not help but meet his gaze. "Enough of this self pity. We all know you did not mean to attack us. What matters is how we have reacted. Ryvin and I may have gotten off with a broken rib and a scar respectively, but Nutmeg," He gestured to the brunette woman, who looked up, eyes barely peeking above her knees. "Nutmeg, I think you need to tell us how you were affected."

Nutmeg hid behind her legs again, and silence fell over the garage. No one moved, it was a terribly daring thing to even breath in that silence. That silence was unique, a silence belonging to the wounded and broken and only to be ended by such.

Nutmeg spoke from behind her legs, "I tried to protect you." Immolen looked up, and found that he could not take his eyes off of Nutmeg. "I promised your parents I wouldn't let you hurt anyone. Do you remember Gray?" There was long silence before Immolen responded, "I sent him to the hospital. For a month."

Nutmeg spoke again, "Because he pushed me. You parents made me promise to look after you. Never let that happen again. And I-" Her voice was cut off by heavy sob as fresh tears flowed down her cheeks, "I failed them." She looked up, revealing her tear stricken face, and said, "You want to know why I love being happy? Why I meet so many people and chase pigeons and make whirlpools in the water?"

No one spoke.  
"Because that distracts me. It distracts me so I don't have to face that failure." Nutmeg lifted her gaze and looked into Immolen's eyes, forgetting the rest of the team was there. "Your parents filled in when mine couldn't. My dad was never there and my mother was a drunk. I loved your parents just as much as you did, and I let them down."

Immolen shook his head, and whispered, "I don't think you failed them."

Nutmeg's sobs stopped and it seemed for a moment that the tears froze on their path down her skin. "What?"

Immolen spoke then, his voice barely more than a whisper. "You were the first one to visit me. I woke up alone in a hospital bed and you were there." Nutmeg laughed, little more than a forcible rush of air, "I was asleep."

Immolen smiled, half his lips going up in a small smirk, then said, "But you were there. You were still looking after me, even after all that."

Nutmeg could not speak, the tears now flowing freely again.

"You've always looked after me, Nutmeg." Immolen said, the smirk gone and his eyes producing his own tears. "I can't repay you for that. I just hope that I'm good enough to deserve it."

Nutmeg sobbed and leaped across the circle, seeming to levitate across the distance to slam into Immolen with a tight embrace. Nutmeg whispered, "You are. You are, you are, you are," over and over again into Immolen's ear and the two fell backwards onto the ground, wrapped together like tangled twine.

Team RAIN sat in that moment. Night had fallen and the moon was past its zenith when Nutmeg and Immolen finally released one another, though they kept one arm around the other, bodies pressed a closely together as possible.

"Dinner?" Ryvin said. Arcon nodded, Immolen said, "Absolutely,"and Nutmeg replied, "Please."

Preparing for a lovely meal of questionably fresh vegetables and processed meats, Team RAIN sat around the table of a restaurant down the road, The Three Ursas. It was more of a diner than not, and perhaps could have used a bit more business to keep its maintenance up to snuff, but the team often found themselves here after a mission. They team sat in their usual spot, the back left corner, at a round table. Ryvin always sat in the chair that was properly in the corner, so that nothing could sneak up behind her and she could see the entire diner.

The Three Ursas was a pair of old boxcars placed end to end, refitted and repaired in order to fulfill their new purpose as dining rooms. It had taken a few years to get the place up to code, but after a good deal of hard work and no small amount of money, the restaurant was open. The old red paint had been done over with a vibrant white and orange, and the entire outside wall of the left boxcar was painted with a mural of a team of Hunters facing down three Ursas. The sliding door on the right boxcar was used as an entrance, a small set of wooden stairs making their way from street to diner. Immediately inside the door was a small podium for greeting guests. Just beyond the entrance to the diner was the counter with a row of stools around the perimeter and behind which the waitstaff made coffee and kept the pastries. If one looked past the counter and the lovely waitstaff, there was a door which led to a small outbuilding behind the diner. This was the kitchen was an incredibly modern affair, the pride and joy of the owner and head chef of The Three Ursas, Ludwig von Grun. To the left and right of the counter were three tables apiece, all of which were round and could fit six in a pinch. The diner wasn't much, but it was as good a place as any, and Team RAIN liked it.

The team made small talk as the waitress dropped off their drinks, waters all round. The team had been discussing the upcoming dance, though their demeanor was subdued.

"Thanks Violet." Immolen said, immediately grabbing his glass and taking a sip. The liquid rushed down his throat, refreshing the parched skin from its previous torment. Nutmeg likewise appreciated a drink, her eyes still red and puffy from before. Violet had not asked what had happened. Hunter business was Hunter business, as far as she was concerned. Still, she appreciated the team's manners and always made a point to try and cover the section of the diner that included their table. She smiled at Immolen as she headed back to the kitchen to grab food for another table, the team still needed some time before ordering.

Ryvin picked up her glass and considered it for a moment before logic won out. This certainly wasn't the time for a toast. Taking a drink, she sighed contentedly. This was fresh water, none of that reservoir sludge.

After quenching her thirst, the leader of Team RAIN said to the table, "I've been thinking about what the White Fang said."

The team turned to her, curious, and she continued. "The big Faunus in the camp, Taor, specifically. He called the person he was on the line with general. Assuming that the leader is Faunus, which is logical because it's the White Fang, then that makes finding out who our mystery person is much easier."

Nutmeg cocked her head to the side and sipped out of her glass with a straw, but did not say anything. Arcon, musing quietly over his glass of water and considering asking Violet for a lemon, took the leap. "Why?" Ryvin looked pleased that someone had taken the bait, and had another sip of water before responding,

"There haven't been many Faunus generals, and we can assume this is a general from before the White Fang, because the Fang doesn't use those titles."

Violet returned, carrying a bowl of lemons for Arcon. She placed them next to him with a wink, saying that she remembered the last time the team had eaten here. Arcon thanked her, and immediately put a wedge on the rim of his glass, squeezing the juice of another in the drink. As he did this, the rest of the team was ordering their food, chicken over pasta for Nutmeg, a steak for Immolen, a salad for Ryvin, and some plain pasta for Arcon. After they ordered, Immolen looked over at Ryvin incredulously, and she raised an eyebrow at his behavior.

"Just because we haven't seen it doesn't mean it can't happen." Immolen said. Ryvin nodded quickly, before continuing with her explanation.

"You're absolutely right Immolen, it's entirely possible they've started using a more conventional system, but I don't think that's the case."

Nutmeg was watching the interaction with interest, too busy making slurping sounds with her straw to jump in. Likewise, Arcon was silent, eyes trained on Ryvin as she spoke. Immolen picked up the slack, asking,

"How can you be sure? The Fang," he spat the name, "has to change their tactics someday."

Ryvin nodded while a line of a smile made its way across her face. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out her scroll and proceeded to start searching for something in the devices files. She talked as she worked, not looking up from the scroll. "I did some research while Nutmeg was talking to Roger," saying the name almost forced Ryvin to grimace, but she refused, and continued her explanation, "It turns out that a while back Vacuo had a moderately successful Faunus general, named Maron Paxton." She flipped the scroll around in her hands and showed the screen to her teammates. On it was the picture of a male Faunus in military dress, clean shaven and serious, gray hair cropped above his ears, two prominent horns broke through his hairline, and ended in nasty points. An anonymous pair of arms was receding from the picture, having just placed a heavy medal around the Faunus's neck. The picture was captioned, 'General Maron Paxton receiving a medal for valor.' Ryvin looked around the table meaningfully, meeting the eyes of each of her teammates. She was less than impressed when Immolen asked her the meaning of this whole conversation.

"I looked over his files and dismissed him initially because he was outspoken against the new form of the White Fang."

Acron squeezed another lemon wedge into his water, saying, "It is strange that a warrior would back away." Immolen glared at Arcon for half a moment, before regaining his composure. "Just because he's Faunus doesn't force him to join to Fang." He muttered. Arcon grunted softly, looking down apologetically.

Ryvin nodded, drumming her fingers on the table impatiently until she had the floor again.

"Regardless, he was among the biggest critics of Adam Taurus, so I let it go. But then I got thinking about how the man Taor was talking to was so disappointed in how many lives had been lost."

Immolen shook his head, "That's just the sign of a good leader."

Ryvin's drumming fingers picked up pace. "Right! But General Paxton made that a major point whenever he filed a complaint to his superiors. It got so bad that he retired and hasn't shown up on the record since."

Immolen frowned. "It's a stretch. If he was commanding, he'd show up somewhere."

Ryvin nodded, and her fingers stopped drumming on the table. She took a moment to drink, her throat was going dry.

"I know it's a stretch, but it's more than Roger's given us."

Arcon nodded slowly, and Immolen grunted. Nutmeg paused in her slurping melody, eyes widening for a moment before she went back to slurping. Violet returned with their food, and the team dug in, considering what Ryvin had said.

After the meal, which everyone had to agree was lovely, the team sat in silence for a few minutes. Ryvin took a sip of water, and then swirled the liquid, studying how it moved. Arcon closed his eyes, and breathed deep, focusing on the air flowing through his body, while Immolen started stacking the team's plates for Violet. He left Nutmeg's silverware, as she was currently constructing a small house out of her utensils. Violet, noticing that the team had finished eating, walked out from behind the counter and over to their table.

"Everyone all done?" She asked. The team nodded and thanked her, Immolen handed her the stack of plates and she smiled at the team's neatness. It wasn't often that people were so considerate, and it certainly made her job easier. It was one of the reasons she like the group of Hunters so much. If only that Nutmeg could stop being so strange. After collecting the plates, Violet asked,

"Is everyone doing alright? You seem kind of quiet tonight." Immolen smiled his half smile and looked down at the table, and Ryvin answered for the team. "We've just had a long day." Violet nodded sagely, shiting the plates so they wouldn't fall.

"Hunter business then?" Arcon nodded, and Violet gave the team a knowing glance. "I should've known. You Hunters are too secretive sometimes." Immolen laughed, a short quick burst which startled the rest of the group. He blushed and continued staring at the table. Violet spoke before an unsettling air had the chance to settle,

"Everybody enjoyed their meal?" The team all spoke praises about their food, telling Violet to give their compliments to Ludwig. Violet smiled and assured them she would, before turning away and bringing their plates back to the dishroom.

Nutmeg went back to her utensil construct, apparently unhappy with the multi story structure she had created. She looked around the table, hopeful that she could find more materials, but everyone else had given their silvers back to Violet. The Huntress frowned, but did not complain, going back to her project.

"So this general," Immolen asked, only to be cut off by Ryvin,

"General Maron Paxton, decorated four times for valor and awarded two medals for bravery. He served thirty two years."

Immolen looked at his teammate, then the table and back again. "Did you memorize everything about him already?"

"Of course."

Immolen shook his head, amazed at his friend's capacity for hyper organization. "I wouldn't like knowing everything. It would take all the mystery out of life." Ryvin snorted in laughter and Immolen grinned. It was typical of Ryvin to memorize every detail about anything relating to, or potentially relating to, a mission. This was an understatement, it was typical of Ryvin to memorize everything. Her incredible talent in committing information to memory and a personality that functioned on order and efficiency made her into a walking encyclopedia of interesting knowledge. "Sometimes," Immolen would say, "She's more of a databank than a person." Ryvin accepted this as a compliment, and put even more time into her memorization. Her impressive intellect was most certainly a boon when the team was out and about.

"So," Ryvin asked, "Are we all set?" The team nodded and stood, gathering their things. Arcon dropped a few credits on the table, making sure to leave a hefty tip for Violet. The team collected themselves and headed back to the garage.


	4. Chapter 4

"We don't know if he'll talk."

"He doesn't need to, he just needs to give us some kind of reaction."

Roger was the topic of discussion, and this particular conversion was between Ryvin and Immolen. There was no question, Nutmeg was still in charge of questioning the Faunus, after all Immolen had given her his word. This talk was to reassure Immolen that the interrogation would not end like the last.

Inside the room, Roger was still strapped to the table, and woke from an uneasy sleep to find the Huntsman with the fake blue eyes-was it Immolin? Immalen? He had only overheard the Huntsman's name through the open door-leaning in a corner and staring at him. Before the White Fang member could speak, the Huntsman said,

"You upset my friend." There was no inflection to his voice, no emotion, just cold and monotone. A fact.

Roger looked away and mumbled, "I'm sorry about that." He meant it, hurting the friendly Huntress was never his intention, but he doubted that his sincerity would be noticed by the man he was speaking with.

To Roger's surprise, the Huntsman said, "I know that you are."

"W-what?" Roger stammered, eyes snapping to the Huntsman's, utterly confused. This man had been the same one threatening to kill him hours earlier. That said, maybe the team's heart to heart had improved his mood. Roger had no idea. Immolen, seeing the uncertainty on Roger's face, said,

"Nutmeg thinks that you're decent. I don't agree, but she's always been better at judging character than me."

Roger let out a breath he didn't remember holding, waiting for the Huntsman to continue,

"She'll be back in here to talk to you soon." Roger nodded quickly, hoping that agreement would gain him favor. Instead Immolen drew his blade, and Roger squealed, closing his eyes, the last thing he saw was the sword coming down towards his chest.

There was a loud clang, and the sound of rope falling to the ground. Roger opened one eye, saw the tip of the blade buried in table, having severed the bonds that held him down. Roger rocketed up, and immediately began untying the rope around his feet, while Immolen sheathed his weapon and headed for the door.

"I wouldn't try running." He said. Roger froze. "That leg won't hold out." Roger looked down at his wound, having forgotten about in his desperate grab for freedom. The Huntsman was right, the injury was still severe. It would take weeks if not months for it to heal properly. That was not to mention the quartet of trained warriors watching the door. By the time Roger looked back up, Immolen was already gone and Nutmeg had taken his place.

She smiled, head bowed slightly, shy, and held out some food. Roger would have leaped at the food if he thought his leg could take it. Instead, he sat and waited, though his growling stomach was evidence enough of how hungry he was. Nutmeg giggled and walked over, her head rising ever so slowly as she gained confidence. Keeping an eye on Roger, she placed the food on the table next to him.

Roger snatched it up off the metal surface, and Nutmeg leaped back, slamming against the wall, one hand flat on the wall as though to drag herself away, and the other on the grip of her pistol. Roger stopped immediately, then began to eat slowly, purposefully, keeping his hands where Nutmeg could see them. After watching a few bites, Nutmeg relaxed and took a few steps closer to the table. She waited for Roger to finish his meal before she began her questions.

"So who's General Maron?"

Roger choked the remnants of his food, and and to take a few moments to recover before he could respond. His voice was hoarse when he spoke and came out just a little louder than a whisper.  
"Who? I-I don't know who you're talking about."

Nutmeg frowned and pulled out her scroll, turning it on and bringing something up on the screen. She stared at the device for a moment before turning it around and showing a picture of the Faunus general in question. Roger's eyes widened for half a moment, and he cursed himself for never practicing his poker face. Adopting what he hoped was a blank expression, Roger shook his head and said that he had no idea who Nutmeg was showing him on her scroll. She turned the device around and looked at the picture again, cocking her head to the side.

"Really?" She asked.

"Really really." He responded.

Nutmeg shrugged and put the scroll away, then skipped over to Roger's feet. Bending over his legs, she undid the knots on his feet, and he drew the limbs to himself, rubbing his ankles to get blood flowing through them again.  
"I just thought," Nutmeg said, "That you'd know who he was. He seems like a great person to have as a role model."

Roger shook his head, still rubbing his ankles. "I never heard of General Paxton until today."

A chill went through his body, and he groaned under his breath. Nutmeg hopped up on the table next to him, brow furrowed. "How'd you know his last name was Paxton?"

Roger couldn't speak for a moment, though whether this was due to his shock at falling to interrogation or an equal amount of shock and how utterly adorable the Huntress was when she furrowed her brow he could not say. When he finally recovered, he muttered under his breath,

"He's leading the White Fang around here."

"Oh."

After a solid minute of silence, Roger realized that Nutmeg was waiting for him to continue.

"He's the reason I joined. I wanted to be a doctor, but the schools wouldn't let me in, so I began studying field medicine in the military. I was good at it too, could probably give your friend some pointers."

Nutmeg laughed, and urged Roger to continue. "He noticed that I was talented and recruited me into his personal service. He really is a great commander. He looks after everybody under him, that's why he's always on the lookout for medics. He treats everybody equally too. Human or Faunus, doesn't matter to him as long as you do your job well."

"So why did he join the White Fang?" Nutmeg asked, now leaning on Roger's shoulder as he said, "General Paxton was part of the Fang back when it was peaceful. After Adam Taurus took over, the General wanted to leave but the military had him dishonorably discharged for being affiliated with a terrorist. So he turned to the White Fang for help and they gave him this place as a command. I followed him in. I'd follow that man anywhere. We all would."

Nutmeg took a moment to consider this, head resting on Roger's shoulder. She let out a long breath and then leapt off the table. She paused as her feet hit the floor, and she turned back around, jumping back onto the table to give Roger a hug. He did his best to return it, bewildered with this woman's behavior. He didn't mind, but he liked things to make sense and Nutmeg, well, she didn't make much sense to him. Ah well, he reasoned, she was friendly and probably the reason he was still alive.

Nutmeg squeezed Roger tight, overjoyed that he had cooperated and on top of that, he wasn't being mean to her anymore! With a giggle she slid off the table again and ran for the door. Turning back to Roger before she left, she smiled again, suddenly shy, and then disappeared. Roger smiled back, hoping she had seen.

The rest of the team was waiting outside the door for the return of their friend. Ryvin was looking at something on her scroll and making notes, Arcon was practicing his martial forms, and Immolen was seated on a box, playing a game on his scroll. They all looked up as Nutmeg approached, Immolen smiling at the sight of her. Nutmeg's smile stayed on her face as she explained to the rest of the team what had transpired behind closed doors. She left out the moment when Roger had frightened her, not wanting the team to worry or overreact. As she told the team how badly the White Fang member had reacted to hearing the name of his commander, Ryvin let out a small sigh of relief. Hoping no one noticed, she brought the next issue to the table.

"Now that we know who's commanding them, we just have to find their base." She looked at her scroll, and brought up a map of the surrounding area.

Arcon frowned and looked over Ryvin's shoulder at the map. "That will not be easy." He said, and the rest of the team had to agree. Ryvin looked back at the mountain of a man behind her and said, "They might have made use of an abandoned area. Bought something under a fake name." Arcon nodded with a grunt and Immolen stood from his box, bringing up the number pad.

"I'll call my contact, see if he knows anything."

Ryvin frowned at Immolen, her jaw set. "I don't trust him." Immolen snorted and brought the scroll up to his ear. "Neither do I, but he's all we've got." Watching Immolen walk out of the garage, Ryvin's shoulders slumped and Nutmeg ran over to comfort her. Giving Ryvin a hug, Nutmeg began to study the map. Arcon too was looking at the device, hoping that some moment of inspiration would strike. They discussed their findings as they went,

"They might have settled across the river, at the old textile mill."

"I don't like it over there. Too dusty."

"It is a firetrap."

"You're right, no one in a proper state of mind would use that place. Besides, there's too many windows. How about the warehouses?"  
"Those are too close to the city."  
"And the White Fang is secretive!"

"True. Let me widen the map."

As the search continued, the map grew larger and larger until finally the entire kingdom of Vacuo was in play. Ryvin sighed and turned off her scroll, rubbing one eye with her other hand.

"I don't know where they are. I hate not knowing." Arcon nodded, but did not say anything and Nutmeg just hugged her teammate again. Ryvin put her scroll away and placed her head in her hands, muttering to herself, "We're lucky we found that camp."

Arcon frowned and asked his team leader, "You still do not trust this contact?" Ryvin sighed exasperatedly and looked over at Arcon, her head still down.

"We don't know his name. I don't even think Immolen know's his real name. Nutmeg," the brunette Huntress looked up suddenly, as though surprised she was being spoken to, "how did Immolen meet this contact?"

Nutmeg considered this question for a moment, then said, "He met him at the fair. We shared our french fries with him." Ryvin waited a moment for Nutmeg to continue. When she was not forthcoming, Ryvin asked, "He made you promise not to tell, didn't he?" Nutmeg nodded seriously, and Ryvin sighed. "Even a codename would be better than nothing."

"How about Crown?" The team whirled around to see Immolen striding towards them, scroll in hand. The voice had come from the scroll, it was deep and distorted, the sound warbling and fuzzy. Ryvin gave Immolen an incredulous look and he shrugged. The voice came from the scroll again. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Team RAIN. You may call me Crown."

Ryvin muttered, "It's better than nothing." Thankfully, Crown did not hear.

The man on the scroll spoke again, "I understand, Ryvin, that you do not trust my motives. I also understand you inhibition to put your faith in a faceless person, as for all you know I could be working with the White Fang, or indeed be little more than a program on a scroll. I assure you that neither of these are the case. I am very real and have no love for the Fang, a fact which can be noted by my continued assistance in your fight against them. Which leads me to my first question: Why do you continue to aid Immolen in his war with the Fang, a fight which seems to have begun based largely upon personal motives."

Ryvin stuck up her nose and stared down at the scroll pointedly, even though she knew that Crown could not see it. "He's part of my team and a good friend of mine. I always take care of both."

There was a moment of silence before Crown responded, "Would you go any distance for both your friends and your teammates? Is there no price, however steep, that you would not pay in order to save one, the other, or both from the maw of disaster?"

Ryvin shook her head and said, "I think that if a person has given their friendship and trust to another person, they're bound by those ties to help them in any scenario."

"An idealist, then." Crown mused, his voice hardly audible over the scroll. Ryvin glared at the device for a moment, her hands clenching into fists before she said, "A promise."

"I would like to take this moment," Crown said, "To quote an old friend of mine: 'Six of one, half a dozen of the other'. For the unaffiliated, I shall clarify, this phrase pits two stances against one another and describes them as the same."

Arcon rumbled low in his throat, then leaned over to Immolen and asked, "Is this common behavior for this man?" Hoping that Crown did not overhear, Immolen whispered back,  
"Unfortunately, yes." Arcon grunted in response and turned back to the ongoing conversation. Ryvin was not so clandestine in her distaste of Crown,

"When you've finished treating us like children, could we talk about the issue at hand? The White Fang are still out there, and it would be better to move on them sooner than later."

"I quite agree," Crown said, the scroll's connection shorting out for a moment before reestablishing. "It would be most prudent of us aIt would be most prudent of us all to focus upon discovering the location of your query. I have already amassed several promising locations, though it should be noted that your traditional means of travel will not suffice."

Arcon lifted his chin in a mixture of disappointment and offense. "And why would that be?" he asked, a hard edge to his voice.

Crown continued, not paying any heed to the insulted Huntsman. "It will not do for your vehicle to be seen at any of these locations, if indeed you wish to remain in Shade academy. These areas are unscrupulous at best. I am sending the coordinates to you now."

With that, the call terminated and a series of messages popped up on Immolen's scroll. He looked at the rest of the team apologetically, saying how sorry he was that his contact had acted in such a way. "It's fine." Ryvin said, pulling up the map again, "let's find these places."

Four days and seven potential sites later, the team had turned up nothing. Having convinced the school that the team was taking off time to work on cooperation building exercises, a week off had been allocated. They would have to work twice as hard to catch up when they returned, but the potential of finding the White Fang was more than enough motivation. Holding to the advice they had received from Crown, the team traveled without the car, much to Arcon's distaste. Being forced to rely on the transit system for the public masses, the team did their best to avoid sticking out. Arcon had gotten off easily enough, a walking stick was hardly cause for alarm in a Kingdom like Vacuo. Any kind of strange you could think of was there, waiting to be discovered, and Arcon did not have to worry. Nutmeg was also able to hide her weapons with ease, tucking them into a bag she slung around her shoulders. It was Immolen and Ryvin who suffered most, the former being forced to put his sword into a guitar case, and hoping that it would pass unnoticed. At a quick glance, there was nothing odd about the young man carrying his guitar down the road with his friends, but if someone were to look closely enough they would see the guitar case was not fully latched and just within lurked something capable of much more than music. Ryvin got off worst of all, as there was little she could use to hide her rifle. She had resigned herself to wrapping the weapon in canvas and claiming that it was a new art project. While it was not impossible, if the roll of canvas shifted even slightly a casual passerby might have noticed the gun stock or the barrel. Halfway through their trip, someone had gotten a bit too curious and almost called out that the tall blonde woman had a gun, until Nutmeg had distracted them with a smile and friendly conversation. Ryvin then decided to shift her rifle into its second form, a spear. The stock folded in on itself, the scope sunk into the shaft of the polearm, and a bayonet shot out from underneath the barrel. In a fight, the magazine would have remained in place to allow Ryvin to fire while engaged in melee combat, as the trigger also remained, but on their travels the leader of Team RAIN carried her ammunition in Nutmeg's bag. After Nutmeg had promised to not lose the bullets, Ryvin had reluctantly put them inside the satchel. The weapon did not feel complete if it was not ready to fire at a moment's notice, and the one round in the chamber did not allay Ryvin's disquiet.

Overall the team was making their way across Vacuo without much trouble. Nevertheless, Immolen was antsy, shifting from foot to foot and twiddling his fingers, a habit which only got worse each time they found nothing. Nutmeg would often stay up till the wee hours of the morning with him, discussing the progress the team had made. At the moment the team was taking a train across the kingdom, hoping that their newest search would turn up better results.

"This isn't working." Immolen said, looking out the window and watching the countryside roll past. The desert was had been kept at bay in the larger cities of Vacuo, but beyond the farms and Dust factories hints of sand peeked through the buildings and reminded everyone of the harsh terrain in which they lived. Conquering the desert was an accomplishment that most citizens of Vacuo were proud of, and remained an impressive feat even in the modern era. Nutmeg sidled up next to him, squishing him against the side of the train as she looked over his shoulder. "It's just a puzzle." She said, eyes following the buildings as the train flew by. "Like a jigsaw puzzle." Immolen shrugged, not focusing on a particular part of the countryside, just staring to give himself something to do. "You usually start jigsaw puzzles with all the pieces." He said, and Nutmeg cocked her head to the side, responding, "Not me. I like to hide some pieces."

Immolen's gaze broke with the outside world, and he turned back to look at his companion.

"Why?" he asked, and Nutmeg shrugged, now pawing at his shoulders to lift herself up for a better view. "Then I have to go find the pieces. It's a puzzle inside a puzzle." Immolen took this in, then shook his head, not fully understanding. "I just prefer to have all the pieces." he muttered, turning back to the window. Nutmeg frowned, almost losing her balance as Immolen shifted. The pair looked out, discussing the merits of puzzles, and whether or not it was better to start with every piece.

On the other side of the aisle, Ryvin was seated next to Arcon. She was looking around the train, categorizing the rest of the passengers. There were three families, two with four members, one with five, four couples, two human, one fanus, and one mixed, and ten single passengers, none of which were talking to one another. No one was looking at Team RAIN any differently than they would anyone else. She let out a relieved sigh and settled into her chair. Arcon saw her out of the corner of his eye, and said, "Relax your mind, Ryvin." The leader of Team RAIN shook her head and looked over at the mountain of a man that sat next to her. "I can't. The more we search, the more worried I get. They're bound to have somebody on the lookout."

Arcon nodded sagely before leaning back into his seat, eyes closed. "True. But until that is confirmed, you should try to relax." Ryvin snorted and rolled her eyes. "Why is that?" Arcon responded with a voice barely louder than a whisper, "Too much worrying will ruin you. Relax. Become one with yourself." Ryvin opened her mouth to respond, before thinking better of it. She knew it was useless to argue with Arcon about quality of life. The giant of a man was more than capable of talking anyone to a standstill. Arcon, for his part, nodded again as he turned his attention to looking out the window. He frowned after a few moments and turned back, focussing on the seat in front of him. That at least, did not move.

Ryvin looked over, worried. "Feeling sick again?" Arvin nodded lightly, hoping that only his team leader had seen. Ryvin reached into her pocket and rummaged around for a few moments before pulling out a small plastic bottle. "Want some medicine?" Arcon shook his head, but thanked her anyway. Her closed his eyes instead, breathing deeply and trying to stay as still as possible. After a long few minutes, he breathed out slowly and looked over at Ryvin. He thanked her again, and said that he was feeling much better. Sighing, he reached into his own pocket, and pulled out his notebook. Flicking open the cover, he leafed through the poems he had jotted down in their travels. Nothing particularly good, just a few musings on the nature of humanity and the spread of technology across what had once been an unspoiled oasis of natural splendor. Turning the notebook to a fresh page, he pulled the pencil out of the rings that held the pages together, and began writing a new work. This caught Ryvin's attention, and she looked over, interested.

"What's this one about?" she asked. Arcon shrugged, pencil firmly planted on the page but not going anywhere. "I am not quite sure." He said. Ryvin pursed her lips and looked around the train as one of the single passengers stood to adjust their bag. "What about them?" she asked, and pointed a finger at a family a few rows ahead. Arcon studied them for a couple seconds before shaking his head. "I do not have a family like that. I cannot comment on their experience." Ryvin looked at her companion, resting her head in her hands, and responded,

"True, but you're also not a flower, and that's the poem you're best known for."

It was true, Arcon's most successful poem was a series of short triplets about the life cycle of a flower. It was hailed as the most in depth look at the process of life, while managing to use the fewest words. Arcon did not see how the amount of words was important, as he always said, "The meaning is still conveyed." This was one of the few quotes that the public had to remember Arcon by, between school and his own personal schedule he had little time for interviews. He preferred it that way.

Arcon frowned, and said, "I can understand a flower. A flower is simple, a human is complicated." Ryvin took a moment to consider this, and shrugged. "I don't think so. People are easy to figure out, they all think the same." Arcon rumbled deep in his chest in response, looking up from his notebook. He studied Ryvin for a moment, then nodded curtly and began writing. Ryvin opened her mouth to ask if he was writing a poem about her, but decided against it. The only person Arcon shared his poems in progress with was Nutmeg.

Ryvin looked down, and clasped her hand together. "Do you think we'll find them?" she asked. Arcon stopped writing and put his pencil tip to his chin, thinking for a moment. Rumbling in his chest again, he returned to his writing, putting down a few lines before responding, "Of course." Ryvin looked over at him, knuckles going white from the pressure. She let out a breath, then countered, "You can't know that for certain."

Arcon shrugged, his pencil still working its way down the page unfettered. "I know that this is a good team." he replied, the tone of his voice making it clear that this was the end of the conversation.

Ryvin, a small bit sour that she had not gotten the last word, grumbled that she knew it was a good team. She considered herself lucky to have been granted the opportunity to lead Team RAIN, indeed she had hardly thought herself capable. Were it not for the skill of the rest of her teammates, she wondered if she would ever have survived this long at Shade Academy.

Her train of thought was interrupted by a commotion at the front of the car. An older man was attempting to get his daughter out of her seat, which she refused. She was starting to scream, not words but animalistic howls of protest. The man was cursing and raving, and the noise was attracting attention.

"Come on, get up! Our stop is in a few minutes, and you need to use the bathroom!" the girl shook her head and screamed again, not moving from her seat. The man continued, his voice getting louder and more agitated. As he did so, the girl screamed even more.

Ryvin stood, eyes determined and jaw set. She felt a hand grab her arm and she whirled around, her fist streaking for the throat of the person who had dared to touch her.

It was Arcon. He did not flinch as Ryvin's attack stopped mid swing. He looked up at her, and said, "Ryvin please. We need to stay hidden." The leader of Team RAIN threw off his arm and stormed to the font of the train car. As she approached, the other passengers took note, whispering amongst themselves. Immolen looked to Arcon, and hissed "What's she doing?" Arcon did not respond, instead he continued watching Ryvin.

The whispers caught the attention of the man, who turned to see the Amazon of a woman striding towards him. He started cursing her and put one arm out to stop her. Ryvin let out a long breath before she smacked his arm out of the way and her other hand flew to his throat. He gagged, hands jumping to protect his neck, and Ryvin punched him square on the jaw. His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed. Stepping over him, Ryvin knelt next to the screaming girl and said,

"Hey, it's okay. I'm Ryvin. What's your name?" The girl continued screaming, and Ryvin continued speaking to her, gently as she could.

Eventually the girl looked over at Ryvin through tear stained eyes and said, "Ory." Ryvin smiled, and said, "Well Ory, I'm gonna sit here, okay?" Ory nodded, and wiped away some tears. Ryvin smiled and sat down in the aisle next to Ory.

Ryvin spent the rest of the train ride with Ory, comforting her. She had called for the train attendants to take away the unconscious man. They had searched his body and found him without a ticket. Scratching their heads at how the man had boarded in the first place, the porters took him away, to be held until the next stop. The commotion had even attracted the conductor, a broad shouldered, tall man with a thick moustache, who asked Ryvin how she could possibly have known that the man was not supposed to be on the train.

"It was obvious," she said, "He was saying that the next stop was coming up soon." The conductor furrowed his brow and stroked his moustache, saying "The next stop isn't for-" Ryvin cut him off, saying "Another two hours right?"

The man looked down at her, and pulled out a gold pocket watch. Flicking it open he studied it for a moment, then turned back to respond. Once again Ryvin cut him off, saying "Well, it's one hour, fifty nine minutes, and thirty seven seconds. Approximately." The conductor looked back at his watch, and said, "Huh." Snapping the golden timepiece closed and sliding it into his pocket, he thanked Ryvin for catching the man. She shrugged and said it was what she did. The conductor looked at her for a moment before nodding curtly and returning to the front of the train.

A notification popped up on Ryvin's scroll. Sliding it out of her pocket, she saw a message from Immolen.  
"Are you crazy? Do you want to get caught?"

Ryvin frowned and responded, "I couldn't help it." After a couple of minutes, she received a second message. "And I can't help getting angry. I saw you, that was a choice to help out."

"Would you prefer I'd let him hurt Ory?"

"Ory?"

"The girl."

"Ah. And no, of course not but there were better ways to do that!"

"You're telling me about better ways?"

"I definitely am."

"Immolen, we'll talk about this later."

"Fine."

Ryvin put her scroll away and turned all of her attention back to Ory. Immolen, several seats back snarled about clandestine attacks and stealth as he put his scroll back into his pocket. He leaned back into his seat and glowered out the window. Nutmeg looked over and put her lips up to his ear, whispering, "You gonna be okay?" Immolen sighed, and looked over his shoulder at his friend. "I'll be fine. Just worried she might have blown our cover." Nutmeg cast a glance around the seat in front of her, seeing Ryvin talking in a rather animated fashion with Ory. Turning back to Immolen, she said, "Even if she did, she's happy now! And happy is good." Immolen grunted and hugged Nutmeg with one arm. "Yeah," He said, "It certainly is." Nutmeg returned the hug, before looking over at Arcon. The huge man was nodding appreciatively at Ryvin, looking down to write his poem between glances. Nutmeg laughed, a soft sound, like mist, suddenly there, and suddenly gone. She settled into her seat, rested her head onto Immolen's shoulder, and slept.

Two hours later the train squealed as the brakes were applied in earnest. The entire vehicle slowed dramatically, finally lurching forward one more foot and then coming to a halt. Immediately Arcon was out of his seat and at the door, fingers tapping on his walking stick impatiently. A voice came over the intercom,

"All passengers, be aware, we have arrived at our destination. Please back away from the doors and wait for them to open." Arcon huffed heavily, and waited for his chance to escape. He snapped his head around as someone tapped him on the shoulder. He gripped his walking stick tighter, searching for the source of this disturbance.

It was Nutmeg. She put her arm on his shoulder, and said "Our stop isn't for another hour."

Arcon's eyes widened and he groaned softly before returning to his seat. Nutmeg sat with him, leaving Immolen to stare out the window and check his scroll absentmindedly from time to time. Arcon was settling into his seat, grumbling about how much time it could possibly take to travel from one place to another, and wondering aloud why the team couldn't have just walked instead. Nutmeg made the counter argument that while walking would have been fun, "A real outdoor adventure!" as she said, the team only had so many days to search for the White Fang. Arcon huffed again and closed his eyes, leaning back in the seat. Nutmeg thought that he looked rather peaceful.

She noticed the open notepad on his lap and asked him what it was about. Without looking down, he passed it over to his companion. She cooed lightly, and smiled. Looking over the page that Arcon had been working on, she cooed again, and looked down the aisle to Ryvin. She could just barely make out the blue tinted ends of Ryvin's hair, the leader of Team RAIN was currently leaned in towards Ory and was urgently discussing the meaning of Grimm in modern fairytales. Nutmeg turned back to the poem and, after finishing it, passed it back to Arcon with another smile.

"It's really good." She said. He did not respond at first, reading over the poem and nodding from time to time. He looked up after he was finished and flipped the notebook closed. He looked down at Nutmeg and bowed his head appreciatively.

"Do you truly think so?" He asked, and Nutmeg smiled even wider, waving her hands to accent her speech. "Of course! You needed to get out of the dirt and into the sea, don't you think?" Arcon considered this for a moment before shrugging.

"I think I understand." He replied, and he put the notebook back into his pocket. Nutmeg laughed and hugged her knees to her chest. She rocked back and forth as the train doors opened with a hiss and a few people on board began to file out. Ryvin turned in her seat to watch the car as three of the single passengers, one couple, and one family left. As the doors closed, she smiled, satisfied, and returned to talking with Ory.


	5. Chapter 5

The rest of the train ride passed without incident, aside from Nutmeg climbing over Arcon to see a particularly impressive looking building. She "Ooh"ed and "Aah"ed as it went past, drawing some attention from the other passengers. Arcon did not change his expression, though Immolen laughed quietly to himself at the sight of the pair. When the team finally got off at the correct station, they regrouped on the platform. Everyone was a bit surprised to see their number complimented by the tiny figure of Ory. She smiled shyly up at the rest of the team and, at Ryvin's urging, said "H-hi." Every greeted her with enthusiasm, and Immolen knelt by her side to ask her the most serious question of,

"What's your favorite color?" Ory said it was orange and Immolen gasped dramatically and said that he too enjoyed orange. Happy with the newest addition to their group, Immolen stood and extended his hand. Ory gripped onto one finger and led the way, Ryvin and Immolen doing their best to guide the girl. She was beginning to move more freely, now that they had left the train, and was even pointing at buildings and objects asking for the pair of Hunters to explain them.

Arcon shook his head, but could not help the hint of a smile that plagued his face. Nutmeg saw this and squealed, pointing it out before running over to the rest of the team and telling them that Arcon was smiling. By the time they had looked back, the gigantic glacier of a human being had hidden the smile again, and was taking long strides to catch up.

"One day," Ryvin said to him as they walked, "I'll catch you smiling." Arcon did not react aside from looking at his leader and letting out a short puff of air. Not if he could help it, she wouldn't.

After leaving the train station, the team found a restaurant and stopped for a meal. The food was good, and the staff was kind, though Immolen still muttered "It's not the Three Ursas." Ryvin gave him an exasperated look and Nutmeg hissed at him to be polite. He smirked and took a long drink of water before the team went on their way again. Not wanting to attract attention, they checked into a hotel early that afternoon, and began to settle in. Immolen and Nutmeg took over keeping Ory company, though Ryvin would periodically check on them to make sure everything was alright. Ryvin brought up a map of the surrounding area, and waved over Arcon.

"So we're here," She said, and pointed to the center of the city, "and we need to get here." She pointed next to an abandoned quarry, which had been used to mine Dust in the past. In more recent years it had been the spot of a mansion, built by an eccentric entrepreneur, but their business failed and they were forced to leave the site to decay half finished. Arcon studied the map for a moment before asking, "How far away are we?" Ryvin ran a finger over the distance, doing the math in her head, and replied, "About twenty miles. But don't worry," She said hurriedly, "No more trains." Arcon nodded gratefully before saying,

"We need a better picture." Ryvin agreed,

"I can go check it out." Before Arcon could object, she continued onwards, "I'm the fastest on my feet and I have a scope. I'll be fine."

Arcon refused to back down. "I am going with you." Ryvin glared at her friend and grunted angrily. Failing to achieve anything with her stare, she relented, "Fine. You can come along."

Arcon nodded.

Ryvin and Arcon decided to walk the twenty miles. It was a twofold decision, at once allowing them to be as inconspicuous as possible, while also giving them ample time to become accustomed to their surroundings. At least that was the plan. Immediately things began to go wrong, this part of Vacuo was seedy at best and downright criminal at worst. The pair garnered glares and looks of disgust from the people the crossed, some of which were more vocal than others. The pair of Hunters stuck to the alleys and side streets of the city, out of sight from most of the citizens. The deeper into the city they went the more degraded the place became, the houses were run down and collapsing, people were lined up on the streets, either begging or scraping up whatever they could find. People clustered together in families or gangs, Ryvin making sure to keep track of everyone she could see. Arcon looked around as they walked, and shook his head in despair. He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off.

"Hey you!" someone called, their voice harsh from years of smoke. The pair of Hunters did not turn, Ryvin only hugged her canvas tighter, eyes at forward. The person called out again, "You! Blondie!" Ryvin ignored the catcaller, and Arcon took a step closer to his team leader. Once more the person spoke, "You know I'm talking to you!" and suddenly he stepped in front of the pair, stopping them in their tracks. He was a disgusting individual, wearing ragged clothing and sweat pouring down his face from the heat. Dirt covered most of his skin, and he seemed to give off a haze of uncleanliness. He held out a hand to Ryvin and said, "Come on now, girl, you know I was talking to you."  
Ryvin did her best to keep the disgust from her face, and she resettled the canvas to lean on her shoulder. Neither she nor Arcon responded to the man, and he continued talking, not turning his attention from Ryvin.

"So I was thinking you could tell me what you've got there." He pointed at the canvas Ryvin was holding, and she shrugged,

"It's a new art project."

The man's eyes widened and he looked around, A few more men, just as wretched at disparaged as the first, came out of the shadows and joined their leader, who said, "Well we love art, don't we?" The men laughed harshly, one or two taking notice of the cold look they were receiving from Arcon but made no comment on the matter. Ryvin hugged the canvas tighter, and said, "I really shouldn't. It's for school, and my professor's really specific about not sharing our work till the gallery."

The man pouted mockingly and clasped his hands together like a beggar, "Come on, please? I promise I won't hurt it." Ryvin shook her head again, and the man continued, "I'm sure you're a wonderful artist, aren't you, love? Somebody like you deserves a real shot, not like what those schools will give you! Show me the project, I'll get you set up nice." Arcon interjected, staring at the man impassively.

"Set up like you?" The man turned to Arcon, and stared bloody murder at the giant before saying, "I don't think I like you. Boys," he gestured to the rest of the men, "Deal with him, yeah? And get me that project." Arcon grunted in response, and Ryvin sighed heavily. Turning to Arcon, she said, "Let's just make this quick."

The first thug curled his hand into a fist and took a swing at Arcon. The giant of a man batted the attack aside with one hand, then caught the thug under the jaw with his other. The thug flew away, landing flat on his back. The rest of the thugs paused for a half a moment, then the leader urged them on again, saying,

"What'cha waiting for? Get that painting!"

The remaining thugs charged, two of them attacking Arcon and the third rushing for Ryvin. The first of the thugs to reach Arcon swung for his face. Arcon leaned back, and the blow sailed past harmlessly, throwing the thug off balance. Taking advantage, Arcon swung his walking stick up, and struck the thug on the side of the head. The thug fell to the ground with a thud, and Arcon's walking stick followed him down to smash into his back. The thug cried out, and curled into a ball, protecting his head from attack, but Arcon had already turned his attention to the second attacker. Before the second thug could attack, he was laid out flat by the end of Arcon's walking stick. Arcon nudged the thug gently, making sure he was unconscious. The thug did not move aside from breathing, and Arcon nodded, satisfied.

Ryvin sidestepped the first attack from the thug she fought, and the thug stumbled over his own feet from the strength of his attack. He roared and turned to attack again, but received the end of the canvas covered spear for his trouble. He spun in the air, then slammed onto the ground, knocked out. The leader of the thugs looked at his fallen men for a moment, before laughing nervously. The two Hunters both turned to him and began to advance.

"Now, let's not be hasty." The main thug said, his hand straying to the back of his waistband. His grip nestled onto the butt of a pistol. His breath was short, and his hand was trembling. Before he could draw the weapon, Ryvin interrupted, saying,

"I really wouldn't do that." She had leveled the canvas with the man's chest, and looking in between the folds of canvas, the leader of the thugs could see the barrel of a rifle. He gulped heavily, and his hand dropped to his sides. "Ok. Ok, yeah." He whispered, utterly terrified of the two people he had just tried to rob. Ryvin jerked her head forward, and she and Arcon continued walking, stepping over the unconscious bodies of the thugs. Passing their leader, Ryvin glared at him, and stated,

"We were never here."

The man nodded hurriedly, and turned to watch the mysterious strangers wander deeper into the alleyways, and disappear. He gulped heavily, then shook his head. There was only one kind of person like that in Remnant. He knew those had been Hunters, and he cursed himself for not realizing sooner. He looked around at his boys, thanking whoever was out there that the Hunters had been merciful enough to let them all live. He sighed, and resigned to forget the whole incident at some cheap bar that night.

A citizen of the city might wander to the edge of the walls and wonder why a canvas had been left in the sands, to be carried away by a strong desert breeze. Most would shrug and ignore the canvas as it was taken into the sky and fluttered across the orange and purple clouds, and maybe one or two would stop to consider what kind of person would drop a perfectly good canvas.

The sun was hanging low over the horizon by the time Ryvin and Arcon reached the abandoned quarry. There was nothing around the old mine but desert and the Grimm that inhabited it, and now two running figures, their bodies low to the ground. If someone were to look at the pair through some binoculars they might even see one carrying a walking stick and falling slightly behind the one holding a rifle. Then the two figures ran behind a sand dune, and vanished.

Crawling on their bellies Ryvin and Arcon made their way to the top of the dune. Resting her rifle on the crest of the dune, Ryvin peered down the scope and spied on the quarry.

"There's one road going in," She said, informing Arcon what she was seeing, "There doesn't seem to be much traffic on it, maybe a truck or two but I can't make out who they are. There's a concrete wall built up around the whole place, there doesn't seem to be anyone on it."  
"Can you see the mine?" Ryvin shook her head, then said, "I can see the mansion though. Looks like there's a dance hall on the second floor. A whole lot of money went into this place, there's stained glass windows all along the wall." Arcon grunted, then asked Ryvin about the trucks. She shrugged and studied the road for a few minutes. "I can't make out many details from here. They could be White Fang, but it might just be bandits." Pulling away from her scope, Ryvin frowned and started crawling down the sand dune. Arcon followed suit, and the pair again ran across the desert, keeping low to the ground. They dashed from dune to dune, sometimes waiting as long as half an hour before making their next move. Mounting another dune, Ryvin scanned the road into the quarry and the walls.

"No movement. I don't think we've been spotted." Ryvin whispered, and Arcon grunted in response. The rifle turned in the sand as Ryvin shifted her attention to the road. She stared in silence for a few moments before a truck rolled to a stop in front of the entryway, marked with a red Beowulf face slashed with three claws. "There we go." Ryvin said, and motioned for Arcon to take a look. After a few moments Arcon frowned and nodded. Crawling back down the dune, the pair of Hunters began to run back to the city, keeping behind the dunes and out of sight.

The ground behind the Hunters began to rumble and gurgle as a massive something gave chase to the pair, hoping for an early meal.

In their hurry to find the White Fang, the Hunters had failed entirely to factor in the Grimm that stalked the desert. While nowhere near as well known as their cousins in other parts of Remnant, the Grimm of Vacuo were undeniably some of the most dangerous. If the desert itself wasn't harsh enough, the Grimm more than made up for it, leaving the wastelands of Vacuo a harsh and unforgiving place. The pair of Hunters kept running, too caught up in their momentary victory to notice the ground churning and and writing behind them, three lines of tumbling stone and shifting sand now triangulating on the poor humans. Had either of them cared to turn around they would have seen a mouth of sorts, three long teeth that ended in vicious hooks, between which danced a black tongue, twitching in the cold night air. The tongue slapped onto the sand, the sound of its impact muffled by the soft surface it lived in, and suddenly the creature was still. As the footfalls of the Hunters receded from the Grimm, the tongue shot back in between those horrifying, jagged teeth, and the mound of sand bunched up for half a moment before releasing with all the force the Grimm could muster. The creature hurled itself out of the sand at at the Hunters, a keening scream echoing across the desert as it did. Ryvin and Arcon whirled around, hands flying to weapons, recognizing in an instant the creature they faced. It was nine feet long, a massive maggot like creature, covered in small black hairs that stuck up from between the white armor plates that ran along its carapace. It had no eyes or nose or ears, instead its only characteristic was the three teeth and the tongue, coiled up to strike.

"Wuhlen!" Ryvin yelled, swinging her rifle up and firing wildly, the shot glancing off the armor of the Grimm. With a scream she threw herself aside, and the Wuhlen slammed into the spot where she had just stood, disappearing back under the sands. Arcon knelt, walking stick gripped tightly in one hand, and placed the other on the sand. He closed his eyes for a moment, focussing on the ground beneath his feet. "How many?" Ryvin asked, and her teammate was silent for a long moment before he responded, "Three, and more on the way."

Ryvin ran to his side, tapping him on the shoulder. He stood immediately and they took off at a run. It would not be impossible for the pair to defeat the Grimm that pursued them, if the number were only three. But the Wuhlen were known to be pack hunters, albeit unintentionally so. Where there were some, there were always dozens more, attracted to the vibrations sent out by running prey. As the pair turned their backs the other two Grimm leaped from the sand, the same keening cry ripping from their throats. The Hunters threw themselves aside, barely avoiding the massive worms. Getting back on their feet as quickly as possible, Ryvin and Arcon dug their feet into the sand and kept running. More and more Wuhlen were swarming, the furrows in the sand growing in number and length, some of these creatures measuring well over twenty feet long. Dodging the Grimm as best they could, and striking at them where it was possible, the pair of Hunters ran pell mell for civilization.

"We need to reach the city!" Ryvin cried out, "Their defenses will keep the Grimm away!" Arcon nodded and pumped his legs harder, though still Ryvin streaked ahead of him. Looking behind her, the leader of Team RAIN saw how far back Arcon had fallen, and she slowed her pace. A Wuhlen leaped out at her, a small one, and she knocked it aside with her rifle. It squirmed around on the sand for a moment, dazed, before a massive maw erupted from the sand as a huge Wuhlen exploded into the sky, blocking out the moon and the stars, the smaller Grimm trapped between its teeth, a thick tongue wrapped around its body, which disintegrated before the huge Wuhlen could vanish back into the earth. Grabbing Arcon's hand, Ryvin screamed, "Come on!" and began pulling him as fast as she was able.

The two continued their trek, feet pounding into the sand, losing traction as the Hunters began to sink into the sand with each step. Scrambling over the top of a dune, the pair paused for half a moment to catch their breath. The Grimm began to circle around their prey, some even ranging so close to the surface as to break through the sand, long black bodies a hideous stain on the white ground. Ryvin and Arcon readied their weapons and stood back to back, eyeing the churning sands around them. Beyond the mass of swirling earth was a stone, jutting out of the ground like an island in the sea. Ryvin extended a hand towards it and opened her mouth but before she could speak one of the smaller Wuhlen, this one only five feet long, leaped out of the sand and flew towards her. Swinging her rifle up to her shoulder, she gritted her teeth and squeezed the trigger. A bullet rocketed from the barrel with an ear shattering crack, and a hole punched through the Grimm, stretching from its mouth to its tail. The creature disintegrated before it had touched the ground, but before the Hunters could celebrate Ryvin's good aim two more Wuhlen exploded from the earth, one for each of the humans. Arcon grunted with effort, swinging his walking stick into the path of the leaping Grimm. The creature impaled itself on his weapon, tongue trying weakly to throw itself back off the stick before it went limp and vanished. Ryvin fired at her attacker, this shot ricocheting off the armor plating the Grimm had grown, but still knocking it askew in the air. It landed awkwardly and scrabbled about in the sand before managing to vanish once again. A moment later, the huge Wuhlen burst from the sand. Its mouth empty, it let loose a shriek of rage and twisted in the air, slamming back into the sand and disappearing. Ryvin called back to her companion, not taking her eyes of the sand in front of her,

"How long till that one comes for us?" Arcon did not turn, shifting his walking stick in his hands, saying,

"Too soon."

Ryvin grunted in both agreement and frustration. Three more Wuhlen flew out of the earth, one of which found its teeth cracked by Arcon's walking stick, another being shot out of the air, and the third missing entirely, flying between the two Hunters. Ryvin froze as the creature sailed passed, it's teeth scraping her back before it disappeared underground. Another Wuhlen leapt from the sand, arcing towards Arcon, who batted it aside with his walking stick. Then another and another attacked, the Grimm ignoring Ryvin entirely. Her eyes widened and she hissed to her teammate, "Arcon! Don't move!" The glacier of a man stood stock, and the sand slowed its movement. Some of the Wuhlen stuck their mouths out of the ground, slapping the sand with their tongues and crying out.

Hours later, the pair of Hunters stood totally still, the moon beginning to reach the horizon. Arcon's legs were quivering, Ryvin's breath was labored from the effort of standing so rigidly. The Wuhlen had remained, circling where their prey had just been. A rumbling sound came over the dunes and the Wuhlen froze. The sound grew louder, and soon split into several separate rumblings. Ryvin turned her torso, feet staying planted in the sand, and raised her scope, looking towards the source of the sound.

"Trucks." She whispered, and Arcon grunted softly in recognition. "White Fang trucks. Lots of them, heading for the city." Almost on command, the Wuhlen shrieked and disappeared back below the sands, the mounds moving off to the road. Arcon's eyes widened and he tapped Ryvin lightly on the shoulder. She turned around and gasped. One of the dunes was moving away, past the pair of Hunters, and towards the road. It shrunk in size, and then was gone. Ryvin and Arcon remained utterly still, mouths agape. The moon had fully set before Ryvin said,

"We should go." Arcon nodded, and the two set off again, towards the city.

By the time they had reached the city walls, flames licked the early morning sun. The sky was orange and red, a sick parody of the destruction that took place beneath it. Coming to a halt outside the city limits, Ryvin and Arcon were subject to the sight of White Fang looting and pillaging stores, innocents running in the streets, the guards of the city too busy holding off the Grimm to worry about the attacking Faunus. Cruising, Ryvin grabbed her scroll, dialing Immolen. Immolen spoke first, sounding worried, impatient, and angry all at once.

"Are these sirens for you?" He asked, and Ryvin shook her head in despair before replying, "It's the Fang. They broke through the city walls and led a whole colony of Wuhlen into the city."

"So are we going after them?"

Ryvin took a moment to respond, weighing the potential of helping versus the potential of revealing themselves to the White Fang. Gritting her teeth, she made a decision, "We can't help here."  
Immolen's tone changed instantly from partially angry to utterly enraged. "What? What do you mean we can't help?"

Ryvin tried to placate her teammate, but he was having none of it. "Immolen, we can still-"

"We're Hunters! Hunters! Helping people is what we're meant to do! We chased after the White Fang for years, and now when there's an attack on our doorstep you want to walk away?"

"Immolen, let met explain. We can't help here, but-"

"Is that really all that it means to you, being a Huntress when it's convenient? What, are the people here not good enough for you?"

"That's not fair, and you know it. Not if you just let me finish-"

"Not fair? My parents dying alone and scared wasn't fair! My not being there for them wasn't fair, nothing that's happened to us has ever been fair! We don't get to choose whether it's fair or not, we just have to help whenever we can. Would your prefer they all be lost little girls, would that force you to help?"

"Immolen!" Ryvin barked, and her companion went silent. Arcon took a step back, and pretended to study the attack. "We can't help here. And before you start, let me explain. Here, right now there is an attack by the White Fang, we know that. Out in the desert, in the old Dust quarry, is their base of operations, we've confirmed it. So we can't help here, but we can help there."

There was long moment of silence before Immolen muttered, "I'll go find Nutmeg."

"Where is she?"

"Taking Ory to the center of the city. There was a museum she wanted to see, but I imagine it's a refuge now." Ryvin let out a sigh of relief, then said, "Okay. Grab Nutmeg and meet us outside the walls, near the breach."

"Got it." Immolen hung up, and Ryvin put her scroll away with a heavy sigh. Turning to Arcon, she said, "They'll be here soon." The living mountain nodded, and together they watched the attack unfold, hands clenched into fists, feet ready to run, but planted in the sand.


	6. Chapter 6

Immolen almost broke down the hotel room door, guitar case clutched tightly to his chest. The latch threatened to burst open, revealing the blade within. Leaping over a pile of suitcases, Immolen dove into the streets and turned towards the center of town. The citizens this far into the city were gathered in clusters, pointing out the smoke that rose over the city skyline. Some of the groups had begun to guess the source, some saying Grimm, others blaming the White Fang. Small patches of people were moving towards the city center, muttering about safety. Immolen ignored the specifics, ducking and weaving his way between people as he searched for Nutmeg. The vast majority of the citizens were moving in a herd towards the city center, thousands upon thousands of people stopped in the streets, the huge numbers too much for the guard to process all at once. Pushing through the crowd was not an option. Immolen cursed and took off down one of the alleyways. Pushing past anyone else who came this way, he dashed from street to street, searching for some way to reach the center of the city.

Bursting from one of the alleys, he nearly toppled over Nutmeg, who was standing in line with the rest of the citizens. Ory was standing with her, a tiny hand gripping tightly to Nutmeg's fingers. She screamed as Immolen suddenly appeared, then gasped as she recognized him. Immolen knelt down, and the little girl hugged him, her tiny arms not even reaching around his neck. He laughed softly, returning the hug. A few of the citizens looked over, curious, but their interest was not held for long. Looking up at Nutmeg, Immolen asked,

"What's happening up ahead?" Nutmeg jumped a few times, trying to see over the crowd, before shaking her head and saying, "Definitely something!" Immolen laughed again and stood, taking Ory's hand. The little girl was shaking. Immolen related what Ryvin had told him, and Nutmeg made a head motion towards Ory. Immolen shook his head and looked around the crowd. Finding what he was looking for, he reached out one hand and grabbed the scruff of somebody in the crowd. The man turned around in a hurry, he was utterly filthy and disgusting. As he turned, four other men turned with him, all of them sporting fresh injuries. The man was terrified, but he managed to stammer,

"Y-yes?"  
Immolen dragged him close so that the two men's eyes were less than an inch apart. Immolen gestured down towards Ory and said, "This girl, do you see her?" The man nodded, confused. Immolen continued, "Make sure she gets to the refuge. If she doesn't, the White Fang will be the last thing you have to worry about. Am I clear?" The man nodded in a hurry and knelt down by Ory, gently whispering, "Hello there!" Ory shrunk away for a moment, until the man pouted and she laughed. Immolen knelt next to them and dug around in his pocket for a moment. Pulling out his scroll, he handed it to Ory, and said, "If you need us, call Nutmeg okay?" Ory turned to look at the Huntress, who smiled and waved. Ory nodded, and gripped the scroll tight, proclaiming, "I will." Immolen smirked and rose, tossing the girl's hair. She giggled, and turned to wave bye as the Hunters vanished into the crowd. The man shook his head in despair. How many Hunters lived in this city?

It did not take long for the pair of Hunters to push their way through the crowds and out into the now empty downtown district. Farther out the sounds of explosions and gunfire, mixed intermittently with the cries of Grimm, echoed across the abandoned outer reaches of the city. Coming to a halt, Nutmeg pulled out her scroll, calling Ryvin. The leader of Team RAIN picked up immediately,

"Nutmeg, where are you?" Nutmeg smiled as she heard the sound of her leader's voice and started skipping in a circle as she talked.

"We're on the way! Just got through the clump of people so we should be with you soon." There was an audible sigh of relief from Ryvin before she said, "Got it. Anything else I should know?"

Nutmeg thought for a moment, pursing her lips, before replying, "Oh! We dropped Ory off with a nice man, he'll take her to the guards or Immolen will tear him to tiny pieces."

There was a pause, then, "Are you sure that was a good idea?" Nutmeg posed the question to Immolen who snorted, "I could do worse to him" Nutmeg giggled and relayed the message to Ryvin. There was another pause before she responded, "That wasn't...never mind. Anything else?"

"Immolen left his scroll with Ory. We're on our way!" Ryvin's voice came over the line, panicked and annoyed all at once,

"What? Why did he-" But Nutmeg had already put away her scroll and started skipping down the road. Immolen rolled his eyes, but could not keep the smile from his face as he took off after her.

Ryvin growled, sliding her scroll into her pocket in annoyance. Arcon was watching her, concerned. "Why," Ryvin asked, "do those two always have to make things complicated?" Arcon considered this for a moment, the shrugged. Ryvin shook her head and leaned against the wall, watching the fight at the breach. The city guards were putting up a valiant defense, but the White Fang had the advantage of surprise and had taken ground. One of the trucks was a smoking wreck, and the two factions were battling over the rubble of the wall, one side taking the pile of broken metal and stone only to be pushed back by the other. This was not helped by the Grimm, who were picking off the alone or the unwary. Ryvin's finger twitched, flicking the trigger of her rifle. She grunted frustration and turned away from the battle. Arcon looked over for a moment, then looked away unable to think of something to say. His hands were wrapped around his walking stick, knuckles white. He dug his weapon into the ground and planted his feet, forcing himself to stay still, and meditate. Ryvin had taken to pacing, groaning every time she turned and saw the battle.

"Hey!"

The pair jumped and their weapons suddenly appeared in their hands. They turned to see the source of the greeting and relaxed as they realized it was Nutmeg, with Immolen behind her. Ryvin smiled and replied, "Hey." Nutmeg smiled and skipped over to her companions, hugging them both. Immolen approached as Nutmeg was letting go of Arcon, and he asked,

"So, where's this fort?"

Ryvin turned and pointed her rifle in the direction of the old quarry. "It's not a fort per se, but it is a stronghold of the White Fang."

Immolen nodded a small smile playing on the edge of his lips, and Ryvin returned the smile, saying, "Let's get going." A bystander might have wondered why there was an abandoned guitar case outside the city, but there were no bystanders today.

The sounds of the attack faded into the ether as the Hunters ran across the desert, and by the time the Quarry was in sight the battle was lost behind the dunes. Ryvin motioned for the team to crawl, and they worked their way up the largest dune, Ryvin poking her rifle over the top and studying the entrance.

"I can't see any movement on the walls, and the entrance has four guards." Ryvin said, relaying what she could see through her scope. The team took this in, and Immolen asked the question they were all thinking,

"So, how are we getting in?"

Ryvin pursed her lips and considered this, sliding back down the dune to her team. Sticking her finger in the sand, she drew four circles and a box with an opening. Muttering to herself, she drew a line from one of the circles that entered the opening, while the lines from the other three stopped short. Now that the foremost circle was in the center of the box, she drew a dozen X's. The other three circles entered into the box and she started erasing X's, then the circle in the middle of the box catapulted to the edge, where she drew a large Plus sign. Moving the three circles into the center of the box, she erased the Plus, and the rest of the X's. Looking up at Immolen she gestured to the diagram.

"No." He said, "Absolutely not." Ryvin sighed, exasperated, "Would you rather lay siege? Those trucks are coming back, and we need to move fast." Immolen glared her his leader for a moment before reaching up and taking off his glasses, revealing the true yellow color of his eyes. Handing them to Nutmeg, he muttered, "Look after these for me, okay?" Nutmeg made a mock salute and smiled, putting the glasses in her pocket. Ryvin dug into her pocket and pulled out her scoll, passing it to Immolen. "And you look after that."

With a final glare at Ryvin, Immolen stood and brushed himself off before jogging towards the quarry entrance.

The guards shouldered their rifles as a figure appeared from the desert, and one of the guards called out,

"This is a restricted area! Turn around and go back to the city!" The figure slowed to a halt and held up their hands in a peacemaking gesture. The guards were not convinced, due mostly to the fact that this figure had a large sword strapped to their back. The figure called back,

"Don't shoot! We're all Faunus here, right?" The guards did not lower their weapons and the one who had shouted, seemingly the one in command, replied, "I don't know. Are we?" The figure kept their hands up, one finger extending to point to their head. "You can check if you like." The leader of the guards looked at one of the other White Fang and jerked his head towards the figure. The guard approached slowly, weapon still trained on the figure, who seemed oddly calm for this scenario. When the guard closed the distance, he poked the barrel of his rifle into the figure's stomach, and studied their head. He muttered to himself as he looked,

"Yellow eyes," and pulling back the figure's hair revealed ear holes rather than human ears, to which the guard commented, "Well, would you look at that." Looking back towards the other guards, he yelled, "He's good!" and backed up to rejoin his fellow White Fang. The leader of the guards frowned, then lowered his rifle. His soldiers followed suit, and the leader waved the figure forwards, saying, "Let's see if you've got what it takes."

Immolen smiled graciously, and walked inside the quarry. Ryvin, watching the entire exchange, muttered, "Let's move." and the rest of Team RAIN began to approach the stronghold of the White Fang.

Immolen was led into the center of the abandoned mining facility, looking around in wonder.

"What's that?" he asked, pointing to a row of buildings, being used as a hangout by a couple Faunus. The leader of the guards inclined his head towards the buildings, responding, "Those are the barracks. Most of us stay in there. Usually there's more people around."

Immolen feigned surprise, looking over at the guard captain, eyebrows raised. "More people? Where are they all?"

The guard captain flinched, as though wounded, before growling, "That's none of your business." Immolen looked away, hand raising again in an attempt to placate the guards, then said, "Sorry. Just curious."

The guard captain glared at Immolen for a moment before motioning for the party to continue onwards. "Keep your curiosity in line."

Immolen nodded vigorously, but continued to scout out the area, marking anything important. Looking to the back of the quarry, his breath caught in his chest. The mansion was there, a massive four story construction with two huge wooden doors, covered in ornate reliefs of Grimm and Hunters. The top two stories of the east wing were taken up by what appeared to be a ballroom, and someone appeared to be moving inside. It was difficult to tell from so far away, and so Immolen motioned towards the mansion, saying, "Sorry, but what's that building?"

The guard captain grunted in disgust and said, "Commander's quarters. Don't ask any more questions, you're not White Fang yet." Immolen nodded again, muttering apologies. Out of the corner of his eye he could see more White Fang moving from place to place, traveling in groups of two or three. He counted them in his head, there were forty as of now and still growing. He groaned inwardly. It was not impossible for Team RAIN to defeat such odds, but it would be incredibly difficult.

Outside the quarry, the remainder of the team were laying on the top of a dune, watching the entrance. Two more guards had appeared and were standing close together, watching the desert. Ryvin's eyes narrowed, and she motioned for Nutmeg to head around the right side of the entrance, and that she would go left. The small Huntress nodded with a smile and they took off, keeping hidden behind the dunes. They would stick together for now, splitting off when they got closer. Arcon frowned as his companions departed, but he did not complain. His walking stick slid until he could hold it from the middle, his grip threatening to break the wood. He watched the entrance, keeping an eye out for his teammates. To their credit, not even the man who had been serving with them for so many years could keep track of their movement, and he almost felt bad for the guards at the gate. As he watched, the pair of guards stepped closer to one another, and it appeared that one of them brushed the hair of the other behind their ear. His frown lessened slightly, though he did feel even worse for them. Pulling out his scroll, he whispered to his team,

"Please be gentle." There was a moment of silence before he heard a response.

"Got it."

"Okay! I'll be like a little mouse. Squeak squeak!"

Arcon struggled to hold back a smile, and returned to watching the gate. From his post on the dune he watched the pair of guards, completely unaware of the impending danger. By the gate, Ryvin slipped over the top of the dune, her eyes peeking up and over to watch the guards. They were currently too busy with their conversation to worry about what was going on in front of them, and beyond them Ryvin spotted the tiny brown speck that was the top of Nutmeg's head. Sliding her scroll up to her mouth, Ryvin whispered, "Nutmeg, make some noise." Across the desert came the sound of squeaking and chittering, and the guards fumbled with their weapons as they turned to find the source of the sound. The larger of the two began approaching the source of the squeaking, leaving the smaller guard with her back to Ryvin. The leader of Team RAIN crept closer to the guard, keeping as much of herself hidden as possible behind the sand. The squeaks continued from the distance and the smaller guard was completely unaware that there was someone sneaking up from behind. In the desert the larger guard mounted a dune, then turned holding something in the air and calling out,

"It's just a scro-behind you!"

The smaller guard gasped and whirled around, struggling to bring her weapon to bear. Rvyin leapt at the guard, wrapping her arms around the guard's neck and dragging her behind a dune. The other guard bellowed and charged toward them, only to be tripped by Nutmeg, who then delivered a punch to his temple, knocking him unconscious. Reaching down, Nutmeg grabbed her scroll and slipped it back into her pocket. Smiling nervously, she apologized to the knocked out guard before sliding away to rejoin Ryvin. By the time Nutmeg had reached Ryvin, tArcon had rejoined them, and with the entrance clear they slipped inside the quarry. Looking towards the center of the mine revealed Immolen, surrounded by White Fang who were being entertained by his stories of foolish humans. Arcon frowned, sure that the person in the story was supposed to be him. Shrugging it away, he followed Ryvin deeper in. There were not many White Fang on the edges of the quarry, only one or two every now and again. Stopping at the end of a row of tents, the three Hunters poked their heads around the corner and spotted a quartet of White Fang cleaning their weapons. Ryvin turned to her companions and opened her mouth to speak when Nutmeg's scroll rang. It was a happy tune, cut off immediately as Nutmeg answered, "Hello?"

"Hello Miss Nutmeg!" Ory's voice was on the other line, and she said, "I'm calling to tell you I got inside the place with all the serious men. I'm having fun though!"

Nutmeg smiled, oblivious to the approaching White Fang, weapons at the ready. "That's wonderful Ory!" Nutmeg smiled, hand extending beyond the tents, pistol in hand, before saying, "I'll call you right back, okay?"

"Okay Miss Nutmeg!" The young girl hung up and Nutmeg sighed happily, the squeezed the trigger on her pistol, sending the White Fang scattering for cover.

Immolen sighed, and reached up for his blade as the White Fang all turned to the source of the gunfire. "Well," Immolen said, "Here we go."

The White Fang around him charged towards the gunfire, which was now popping and cracking in short sporadic bursts, echoing off the quarry walls, and every so often the sound was punctured by an ear shattering blast. Immolen strolled up behind the White Fang reinforcements, looking down the long corridor of tents towards the source of the gunfire. The White Fang were hiding behind tents and boxes, poking out every now and then to fire at a trio of figures at the end of the line of tents. For now, no one seemed to have the upper hand. Readying his blade, Immolen rushed the nearest White Fang. At the end of the tents Ryvin and Nutmeg were keeping up their fire, the Fang staying hidden to avoid being harmed. Nutmeg burned through ammunition, spent casings flying out onto the sand. Every so often Ryvin would take a shot, her whole body shook from the almighty 'thump' of her rifle, a feeling she swore felt just like falling in love. Looking down the row of tents showed her Immolen, attacking the rear of the Fang. Things weren't going perfectly, but the team had come back from worse than this.

Immolen roared and swung his blade at an unfortunate Fang, bringing his sword down at the neck of his foe.

"Stop!"

Everyone froze. This voice was strong, deep, commanding, the kind of voice that is used to having orders followed. As one Immolen and the White Fang turned to see the source of the voice, and the Fang gasped, shooting out of cover and standing at attention. In the center of the quarry, flanked by a dozen more White Fang, was a Fanus dressed in military frocks, the bars and stripes of command decorating his lapel. He stood at six feet, his hands clasped behind his back. Out of his head sprouted the horns of a bison, shining in the mid afternoon sun. Across his back was slung a huge pole mace with four faces, a spike sticking out of each face and fifth coming out the top. His gaze was steady, and his chin was held high. He observed the scene for a moment, then said,

"If you would terribly mind refraining from shooting me, young Huntress, I believe we could avoid further bloodshed."

Hidden behind the tents, Ryvin's eyes widened and she lowered her rifle in shock. As if sensing this, the man continued. "I am General Maron Paxton, leader of the White Fang of Vacuo. I can only imagine that you are the Hunters who have been chasing after my soldiers for the past several weeks. If this is the case, I will gladly host one of your party as an honored guest, so that we can discuss terms of peace." He paused for a moment, looking disapprovingly at Immolen, who was now preparing to strike at the general. "I would prefer to speak to your leader, as I understand you work in teams, but if another is more suitable they will be welcomed just the same."

Immolen looked over his shoulder at Ryvin, who nodded vigorously. Sheathing his blade, Immolen shrugged and said, "I guess that's me." General Paxton exhaled lightly before he nodded and turned sharply, leading the way. His guards fell in behind him, two of them remaining behind to make sure that Immolen did not try anything foolish. The rest of Team RAIN could only watch as General Maron Paxton and Immolen disappeared into the mansion.

The inside of the mansion was sparsely decorated, a few tattered banners and a collection of medals brought the illusion of homeliness to the entrance hall, though a look inside any of the other rooms would shatter this. Inside one room was stack upon stack of boxes labeled "Ammunition" and inside another were huge stacks of uniforms, masks, and armor. Most of this equipment was gathering dust, showing signs of not being used in some time. Immolen only caught glimpses as he was led through the main hall, and up the stairs. At the top of the stairs was a spray painted logo of the White Fang, a symbol the general considered for a moment before grunting softly and turning left. After following him down another hallway, Immolen was halted as the general placed his hands on two massive wooden doors. With an obvious effort, the old soldier pushed them open and Immolen gasped. Beyond those doors was the largest ballroom Immolen had ever seen, chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their lights playing with the stained glass, which caused the glass to hold a slight reflection of the room. At the far end of the hall was a tiny writing desk, almost so small as to be missed if one was not looking for it. General Maron Paxton looked back at Immolen and waved him in. As the Hunter entered the hall, General Paxton turned to his guards and said,

"You're dismissed." The guards nodded, and turned as one, marching back down the hall and to the stairs. Closing the doors behind them, General Paxton sighed and released the door handles, heading over to the closest window, upon which was a a Hunter fighting a Beowulf. The General considered this for a moment, then looked passed the design and into the quarry below.

"The rest of your team is waiting for you in the quarry." He observed, "Although my soldiers surround them." Immolen was hardly listening, focusing instead on getting close to the General without being noticed. The General continued to speak as Immolen snuck closer, his blade slowly sliding out of its scabbard. "I wonder sometimes at the arrogance of Hunters," The General said, "Though I suppose it isn't difficult, what with your teachers saying you're unstoppable, insofar as you put in the time and are dedicated to protecting the people. But is that now the same goal I serve? Albeit, the 'people' we serve are at odds, but do we not in the end have the same end in mind? I suppose the difference comes in the monster we fight; while you battle Grimm, I battle inequality." Immolen's sword was held at the ready, two more steps and he would end this.

"Still," The General said, hand snapping to his mace and swinging it around, the head now pointing at Immolen, "Some things can't helped." There was a mighty crack and the spike launched off the mace and embedded itself in Immolen's side. The force of the shot threw the Hunter back, his sword flying out of his hand, Ryvin's scroll sailing across the hall. Immolen landed heavily on his stomach, driving the spike further into his flesh. In the quarry, the crack had been enough to break the uneasy ceasefire, and the two sides immediately set to, Team RAIN trying desperately to reach the mansion.

Immolen gasped, dragging himself across the floor towards his blade. If he could reach it, he could defend himself. As one hand went out, he yelped in pain, the metal spike in his side digging deeper into his flesh. Pushing the pain aside, his fingers scraped against the wood, pulling him forwards, inch by inch. He put out his other hand, and then his left, right, left, right, until he was almost close enough to grab his sword. One more pull, then he would be able to fight back. He threw out his right hand, scraping against the floor and pulling like he had never pulled before. With an almighty crash and an agonized scream, Immolen stopped pulling, his hand crushed beneath the head of General Maron Paxton's pole mace. The bones in his hand were shattered and as the General rolled him over with the butt of his weapon, the spike dug even further into Immolen, each movement bringing it closer to vital organs.

"I do not seek," The General said, "To understand your motives. I only wish to understand your foolishness."

Immolen, now on his back and staring up at the White Fang leader, glared at his foe and snarled,

"Get stuffed."

General Paxton sighed, and leaned on his weapon, four spikes still remaining on the head of the mace. Immolen eyed these for a moment, calculating how quickly he could roll himself to his sword and attack the General. It would not even be close to how quickly the older Faunus would react. Immolen had already learned that lesson, and did not intend to be retaught. The general continued talking,

"Did you really think it would be so easy to defeat the White Fang? We work in sectors, in cells. Destroy one, and the network remains." He paused for a moment, making sure that Immolen was not moving and continued, "That said, why did you think you could defeat me? Was it convenience? Was my sector the closest available group of White Fang? If so, then perhaps more preparation would have been in order. Your plan has failed, your team is surrounded by my soldiers, and you were foolish enough to attack me directly. Why?"

Immolen grunted and reached out a hand to drag himself closer, for which he received a hit to his stomach by the butt of General Paxton's weapon. "We," He said, pausing to cough, specks of blood flying from his mouth, "We didn't fail. Our plan is still sound."  
General Paxton looked away, almost ashamed to see a Faunus so caught up in a fantasy that they could not see the world around them clearly.

"Immolen!" Ryvin's voice. Over the Scroll, thrown clear of the fight and resting in a corner. The marble of the room echoed the sound and carried the message to the two Faunus. "Immolen! Do it now!"

General Paxton shook his head, disappointed. "What faith your friends have in you. A pity you could not slay me."

Immolen laughed, hard and coarse, more blood flying from his mouth as he did so. The General turned, frowning, and considered the prone form of his opponent, who had now begun to speak.

"With all due respect, General, that isn't what she means."

General Paxton's brow furrowed, considering this. There was no other reason for this Huntsman to have attacked him than to cut off the head of the King Taijitu. What else could he possibly be trying to achieve?

The darkness inside Immolen's mouth glowed red for half a moment, drawing General Paxton's attention. He leaned over the fallen Huntsman, curious. Immolen smirked.

With a roar, jets of flame exploded from Immolen's mouth and engulfed General Paxton's head. The White Fang leader bellowed in pain and reared back, firing a spike from his mace on accident. The metal shard flew away and struck one of the windows, colored glass raining down into the courtyard below. The fighting paused, everyone turning to see what had occurred. General Paxton stumbled to the open window, patting down his hair to extinguish the flame, seeking the cool temperature from outside. He bellowed again, and Ryvin knew she would get no better chance.

She knelt, her spear shifting back into a rifle and she took aim.

Breath in.

Breath out.

Calm. Like still water.

Squeeze.

The General was lifted off his feet, twisting violently in the air, blood spewing out of the hole Ryvin's shot had put in his left shoulder. He screamed in agony as he landed, and his soldiers roared in anger, half of the attacking the Hunters and the others rushing to aid their fallen leader. Some of them would notice when they returned to the fight that the shorter Huntress had disappeared. Those who had ran to aid the General would find her blocking their way, at once defending the entrance the hall and the life of her comrade.

The rage and confusion that came from losing their commander made the White Fang reckless, and they were no match for the Hunters.

Arcon slammed his staff into the ground, a fissure splitting open the earth in the path of the foe, knocking them to the ground and breaking bones, Ryvin was using her spear once more, stabbing soldier after soldier, each stroke smoother and more graceful than the last. In the hall, the White Fang could not progress through the door, a hail of bullets stopped them every time they tried. Nutmeg had beaten them to the hall. These poor Faunus would soon find themselves trapped between the defending Nutmeg and an attacking Ryvin, who had left Arcon to clear up the rest of the White Fang in the courtyard.

After the screams and sounds of fighting had finally ended, the rest of Team RAIN finally made it into the great hall, Nutmeg and Arcon spriting pell mell for Immolen, while Ryvin stood guard over General Paxton.

Immolen's vision was fading, and he heard Nutmeg calling his name.

"Immolen! Hold on! Don't you dare leave me, you big oaf! Immolen! Immolen...Imole..Im…" And he knew no more.

It was warm here. Cozy. His eyes snapped open and he looked around wildly, immediately realizing two things: first, he was tied down in bed, second his side still hurt like all the hells. He was in a hospital, he could smell the unnatural, sterilzed air, could hear the heart monitor to his left. He was being taken care of. But why was he tied down? His attention turned to breaking free and reuniting with his team. Had things gone wrong? Had more White Fang shown up? Were they all being nursed back to health just to be interrogated, in some sick revenge for how they had treated Roger?

"Immolen!" His head snapped over, and he saw Nutmeg rocket to her feet, the slumbering forms his other two companions flanking her, asleep in their chairs. He relaxed immediately upon seeing his old friend, who collapsed against his bed, draping her small form over his chest. She mumbled something into his body, and he had to gently ask Nutmeg what she had said,

"I thought you were gone." She sniffled, eyes brimming with tears. Immolen smiled.

"You'll have to try harder than that." She laughed and Immolen laughed with her, the sound waking their comrades. Both of them broke into smiles and stood, glad to see Immolen alive and well.

"What happened to Ory?" Immolen asked, and Ryvin smiled, showing him a picture of the little girl on her scroll. "She's safe," Ryvin said, "We put her up in a shelter for now, I was going to check on her in a bit." Immolen sighed happily, and thanked whoever was watching that she was safe.

It was only then that Immolen realized there was a fifth person in the room.

Roger was leaning on the door, his mask gone. His wound seemed to be better, but he did seem to prefer his right leg. Before Immolen could ask, Roger said,  
"Nutmeg called me after you blacked out. She asked if I knew any hospitals in the area. You treated me when I was hurt, I felt like I owed you a favor."

Nutmeg nodded happily, smiling at the Faunus. "Why'd they let White Fang in here?" Immolen growled.

Roger smiled, and looked down. "Former White Fang. After you captured the General, he issued a statement releasing anyone under his service from the organization."

"Why?"

Roger shrugged. "He wants to give us plausible deniability? I have no idea." There was a beat, then, "Anyway, Nutmeg convinced me not to rejoin and do what I've always wanted. I'll be studying to be a doctor soon."

Immolen's expression did not change, though he did say, "Good for you." Roger nodded, painfully aware that the Huntsman would never forgive him. "Thanks." He mumbled.

Another beat, then Ryvin asked "So, lunch?" Arcon nodded, and said, "That would be lovely." Nutmeg held up her hands and asked if they could eat in the room. Ryvin said that would be fine, and she sat with Arcon.

Roger volunteered to pick up their food, before turning and asking Nutmeg, "So are you two a thing or…?"

Immolen and Nutmeg made the same disgusted look, saying,

"No!"

"Of course not!"

Roger nodded, and left, leaving the four in the room.

Ryvin sighed happily, slouching in her chair.

Arcon grunted, fixing his top knot.

Immolen laughed lightly, trying his best not to move.

Nutmeg smiled, hopped up onto Immolen's bed, and sat there.

Things were finally looking up.


End file.
